Retaining Sanity
by justmica
Summary: In the middle of a world gone to hell, left alone and left for dead, how do you retain the only thing left to you that makes you human - your sanity? OCxHunter
1. The Outbreak

**Summary:** _After a botched rescue attempt, an injured Eden Price is separated from the rest of her survivors to fight a ruthless battle in the city gone to hell. But she's not quite alone. While fighting for her life and her dwindling sanity, she meets an Infected, a Hunter, who's not what he seems. Are they exactly what each other needs in order to retain the last of their sanity, or will their unconventional companionship simply drive the both of them further down the road to hell?_

_In a world where blood and terror runs freely through the streets and insanity is the plague, the difference between life and death may just depend on how human you really are. But what makes a person human anyway? And how, when the world has gone to hell, can people retain the thing that makes them the most human — their sanity?_

Rated for mild language.

I do not claim to own _Left 4 Dead_ or any of its related ideas, themes, and canon characters, which belong to Valve.

* * *

**Prologue**

The Outbreak

The katana shook in my hands. I took a step back, staring in numb disbelief at what I had done. Blood seeped from the decapitated body, spilling unchecked across the ugly brown carpet I hated. Sightless eyes stared into nothingness, utterly void of the maddened life that had been in them mere seconds before. The lifeless limbs lay splayed out at odd angles, the body twisted in the grotesque position it had collapsed in upon being separated from its controlling brain.

It was a sight that I knew would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.

My breathing was harsh in my throat. Something warm trickled down the side of my face, matching similar sensations on my forearms and hands. I had been speckled in blood during the fight. The blood of a classmate. The blood of Anne Wilkinson.

The blood of a friend.

I had just killed my friend.

The silent words sent my mind reeling and careening into a black void. It felt like a part of me had died, and a ferocious, callous, invigorated part surged to take its place. Blood pounded in my ears. My fingers and other extremities tingled with a sickened sense of elation that thrilled me as much as it terrified. My brain was exploding in a million different pieces, only to suddenly settle and come to a horrendous, grinding halt.

I had just killed my friend.

The sound of someone running up the end-hall stairway sent the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Instinctively, I turned and raised the katana in the direction of the sound, intuition taking over my actions while my brain tried to comprehend what was going on.

A large, burly figure dressed in one of the university's football jerseys charged through the door. Upon seeing me, he stopped dead in his tracks, a bloody baseball bat raised up defensively. He was heaving for breath, as if he had just finished running a marathon. Slick sweat poured down his dark face and around narrowed, sorrowful eyes.

"Are you normal?"

The deep voice jarred my senses. "Normal?"

His makeshift weapon lowered slightly, and I saw his eyes glance down to the body at my feet before returning to stare at me. A wave of guilt swept through to fill the numbness.

Oh my hell.

"She just came after me," I tried to explain, my voice strangely steady and calm. I may as well have just been describing the weather. "I had no other choice. She killed her roommate. She was going to kill me."

I tilted my head in the direction of the open apartment door to my right. My eyes remained on the living person in front of me, unwilling to review the gruesome scene I had indicated. The football athlete nodded, accepting my unnecessary explanation with no resentment or accusation in his gaze. "It is happening everywhere."

"I know. I saw out the window." I hesitated. "What's going on?"

The athlete lowered his weapon and wiped a bloody hand across his forehead. "I do not know."

"It's the flu, isn't it? The one that the news warned about. The one that they said made people crazy. They shut down a bunch of the cities in the east because of it. Quarantined."

He shook his head slowly, speaking the same skepticism my tone of voice held. "This is no flu."

We stared at each other for a silent moment. My dazed mind registered the distant sounds of screams. But neither of us said anything to acknowledge them. I lowered my katana, realizing that I had been pointing it at him. "My name is Eden."

His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nodded. "I am Akamu." He paused. "Where did you get the sword?"

"My grandfather gave it to me last Christmas. I know it's illegal to have weapons in this apartment building, but I snuck it in anyway."

There was a faint glimmer of a smile. "It is a good thing you did."

A sudden shriek, closer than comfortable, erupted through the still air. It sounded like it had come from below us. We both raised our weapons.

Akamu looked at me with his steady gaze and set jaw. I looked back. Instead of the fear I should have felt, there was nothing but a cold, determined sense of fortitude.

"We should get to the roof. It'll be safer up there."

He nodded, following as I turned and raced down the hallway. I stopped at an open commons are and started dragging one of the pieces of furniture into the middle.

"What are you doing?" he asked, most likely wondering if the madness had gotten to my head regardless of how I acted.

I pointed over his head at the thin outline of a rectangle raised up against the white ceiling. "That's the only way to the roof of this building. I figured it out last semester when they were doing maintenance work."

Understanding and a shard of relief lit up his gaze. He joined me, easily dragging the chair directly below the indicated space. There were more screams now coming from downstairs. Closer, shriller.

I sized him up. "I'm too short. You're going to have to go up first."

Akamu nodded and handed me the bloody bat, climbing up onto the chair, balancing his weight with one leg on the armrest and the other on the headrest. I sat on the seat cushions, using all of my meager weight as an anchor. Above my head, the athlete shoved bodily against the rectangle. The heavy slab of wood shifted bit by bit until it looked like there would be enough room to pull us through.

Satisfied, he held his hand out to me. "You first."

I nodded, allowing him to pull me up to stand on the cushion below him. I handed him the two weapons and he slid them up first. Then he adjusted his footing and interlaced his fingers, cupping his hands to give me a foothold. A moment and a dizzying boost later, I scrambled through the hole, nearly propelled into the dusty attack by his immense strength.

He made to follow me. His hands were on either side of the opening, ready to heave himself in. And then I saw him stop, staring down the hallway towards the far end, towards the door.

I couldn't see it, but I heard the stairwell door bang open and the harsh breathing as someone burst out into the stairwell.

"Help me!"

The woman's voice sounded strangled, wild. It sent every nerve on edge.

Without looking at me, Akamu nodded, beckoning the newcomer towards him. She stumbled into view, a tall blonde young woman in her mid-twenties. Her entire frame shook like house in an earthquake as she reached for Akamu's steady hands and climbed up clumsily next to him. It was all she could do to perform the same action I had in order to get up into the attic.

I could hear banging now, the sounds of furious hands and fingernails scratching against metal and glass, accompanied by frenzied howls and yells.

"Oh god, they're coming, they're coming!" screamed the woman beside me, curling up into a ball and sobbing.

"Akamu, hurry, get up here!"

He rested his hands on the edge and heaved himself up into the opening. Not a second too soon. Somehow, the door at the end of the hallway opened. The hallway rumbled as more people thundered down the hallway, the howling and animalistic yelling growing louder and more frenzied.

I snatched Akamu's belt and yanked with all my strength boosted by adrenalin, pulling him the rest of the way up to the perch beside me. Movement in the now open space below us drew my eyes downwards. A group of fellow residents reached the spot he had been mere moments before.

Their fronts were covered in splattered, dripping blood from their mouths and some from their eyes. They tore at the cushions, swarming over the discarded furniture like flies to a carcass, gazing up towards us with maddened expressions, trying to reach and follow suite. Snatching up my katana, I lashed down, cutting at arms and hands and keeping them at bay while Akamu slid the board into place. I recognized a classmate in the thrashing mass below, saw as he turned his face towards me, eyes wide with a hunger I could not understand, bloodied teeth bared in an act of bestial hate.

I looked into his eyes. There was nothing human there. Nothing but the enraged, feral look of a monster.

Akamu gave one last powerful heave and the board slid into place. The scene disappeared, but it had been branded into the crevices of my brain alongside the bleeding body of my former friend. My mind accepted it without fighting this time, embracing it, bearing it forward and filing it into easy access as a testament to the realization that many more similar memories would soon come.

I handed Akamu the bat, which he took with a grim expression.

"The roof," I heard myself speak in the same calm, collected voice as before. Katana in hand, I dashed through the crisscrossing rafter beams towards the iron ladder at the far end. A moment later, Akamu joined me, supporting the blubbering, tear-soaked girl. Again, I sent Akamu up first in order to deal with the closed trapdoor, and then all three of us spilled out onto the graveled roof, stumbling blindly, confused in the bright afternoon.

We made it to the edge of the building and gazed down at the horror scene below us.

As I watched, a man burst out from the nearest side street and ran straight for a terrified looking girl. He lunged at her, arms outstretched, mouth hanging open, and…

The blonde beside me give a strangled scream and turn away, heaving and coughing as she retched all over the roof. I had no such reaction. Feeling had left me. All I could do was stare as the deranged man took the shrieking, pleading victim to the ground, biting at her neck and arms as she struggled and screamed and blood filled the street. Beyond them, the same scene repeated itself with few variations. Over and over. Flailing limbs. High-pitched voices. Screams. Pleads.

It was insanity.

Some of the still sane bystanders tried to help. I saw one of them charge at an attacker, shoving him off and trying to kick him in the face, only to be overwhelmed in moments and taken to the ground to be torn and bitten like the victim he had tried to save. Up the street a little farther, a small gaggle of retreating high school kids most likely on their lunch break were cornered by a rushing mob of flailing, stiff-moving people that grabbed, ripped, tore…

"What is this?" I heard Akamu breathe, his otherwise calm voice shaking with an edge of horror and disgust.

"It's a nightmare," groaned the girl, now sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around her trembling body.

"It's the end," I said, my own mind laughing at how overtly dramatic my words sounded.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Akamu nod. "The end."

Breathing heavily, my body and sword dripping with blood, I stood with my new companions and stared out into the city to watch in unfeeling horror as our world disappeared in a frenzied flurry of blood and screams.


	2. The Survivors

**Chapter One**

The Survivors

I moved to the city in early August for school, just another insignificant face out of thousands. It was a relief, to tell the truth. Back in my hometown, everyone knew everyone. No private business was left private for long. In all things public and otherwise, it had been like one huge family.

I'd hated it. I'd resented that daily plague resulting from living in such a small town. The whole lifestyle was tedious and beyond irritating, and I had been quite relieved to get away from it.

If only I had known what sort of plague I would be meeting in the city. I probably would have never left.

"How much farther?"

I turned my head only slightly towards the whisper, my eyes skimming the street. "Two blocks," I muttered, trying to sound confident, even though my faith in the map at the last safe house was nowhere near perfect. Maybe it had something to do with the zombified unicorns and rainbows drawn all over it. "And I can see a fire escape down the alley to the left. Might be a few more up ahead."

Pulling back to press up against the brick wall, I shot a glance at the huddled group of people waiting behind me, slightly in the darkness of the alleyway. In the dim light, I could see their eyes constantly flickering from me to our surroundings, a learned habit from a dozen or so nights of running for our lives.

"No sign or sound of anything. So just keep low and shut up."

The rest nodded like this was all new to them. Thankfully, it wasn't.

"Alright, I'll go ahead first. Cover me."

Again more nods, including a few well wishes and some sarcasm born from fear. As if this decision had not been decided days ago. As if this was the first time and not one of countless.

I returned my attention back to the street. From the dim light of the nearly full moon, I could see that it was mercifully void of life for at least several blocks. Not like that really said much. I had been wrong before, although fortunately those incidents had not cost us more than some spent ammo and time. We had even managed to avoid any major injuries, although we all bore scars. There always seemed to be one or two straggling Infected stumping around, waiting for the next target of choice to wander across their path. For all I knew, there could be something big and nasty hiding in the shadows of the alleyway a few feet ahead of my target.

It was a risk I would have to take. The longer we stayed in one spot, the higher chance we had of something unfriendly popping out of nowhere.

Gathering my feet underneath me, I focused my sights on an abandoned truck parked haphazardly on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. _You can do this_, I told myself, hitching up the AK-47 cradled in my right arm. Won't even need to bother with a stupid flashlight. Easy. Like running sprints in high school. Only now it's with the possibility of getting attacked by zombies.

But then, that was what made it fun.

With a burst of adrenaline pumped from the sheer thrill of the unknown, I sprang from my hiding place and out into the open. My sneakers skipped across the tarmac, and a few seconds later I was crouching between the old blue Ford and another brick wall, taking in quiet deep breaths to steady my pounding heart while I skimmed the area with wide eyes. I leaned against the cold metal as best I could what with a backpack on and sat for a few seconds, body tense and waiting.

No movement. No sounds. Nothing had seen me. Yet, anyway.

On cat's feet, I rose up enough to walk and cautiously crept up the sidewalk, an action-paced theme song sounding out in my head, careful to avoid the littered items on the ground and the countless shards of broken glass from shattered store windows. I would be a sitting dead in the water if I speared my feet with a glass shard. I poked a nose around the corner into the alleyway that I had questioned moments before. Nope, nothing there either, although I had trouble discerning shapes in the blackness where the moonlight could not reach. But it would have to do. Time was ticking.

I motioned to the alley I had left, wondering for the hundredth time why I opted to act as the scout for our little group of survivors. True, I was the smallest, the fastest, and somehow the most capable of taking care of myself as proven on more than once occasion. But I knew as well as anyone how much certain Infected loved lone survivors, and when I was scouting ahead, I was about as alone and vulnerable as I could get without ditching my group all together. The others would be right behind me, keeping their eyes and guns trained in my direction, but they would still be far enough away that it might not matter. It was dangerous for me to willingly separate myself from them like this. Idiotic. But I was acting as bait to draw out anything hanging around, to try to keep the rest as safe as possible. I knew it, and my companions knew it, and strangely, I was alright with it. A part of me even loved it.

So I guess I was either completely suicidal or recklessly insane.

_Just don't think about it._

The others joined me, traveling in a tight group as opposed to going one by one. One, two, three, and four. Five of us in total. All that was left uninfected from the university several miles up town. A history professor, a football player, a technical writing major, and a graduate program computer engineer. Seriously not the kind of group in terms of skills and experience I would have chosen to drag along with me during a zombie apocalypse, but they were my friends and family now. Besides, it wasn't like any of them were dead weight. We had all become proficient at more than one aspect of survival in the past two weeks. It was amazing how fast people adapted to outrageous situations.

"All right, according to that map, we have two blocks to go and then we take a right. Should be one building down from there. Akamu, take the lead."

The hulking athlete shuffled forward, hefting up the shotgun we had raided along with the rest of our guns from the hunting section of an outdoor store. His eyes showed the wild fear that the rest of us echoed, but his square jaw was set and his expression was hardened. He flicked the dim setting on his flashlight, keeping it aimed low so as to not attract attention, and took a moment to situate himself, his eyes roving the street up ahead and picking out any possible detail that may be the difference between life and death.

"You know, if this was a video game, it'd be a great time to cue the scary music that always happens right before something jumps out and tries to rip your face off."

"If this _was_ a video game," I shot back in a low voice, looking over my shoulder at the computer engineer, "I would still be better at it than you, Mr. I-can't-shoot-and-run-at-the-same-time."

Charlie grinned, but I could see the exhaustion and weariness edging his haggard face. "As if. I can hack a video game faster than you can shoot a zombie, real _or_ digitalized."

There was a scattering of tired laughs. It was mindless banter. Something to keep our minds off of what may or may not be lying in wait up ahead. Something to fill the empty silence that had taken hold of the city ever since the outbreak. Charlie and I were very good at that. Charlie, because that was how he coped with stressful situations. Me? Reflex.

Satisfied with his check, Akamu flicked his hand and started walking forward. We moved up the street as quickly as we could without setting into an all-out run. True, it was a bit slower, but running would have made it all too easy for someone to get left behind. Not to mention it was harder to come to an abrupt stop and hide when your momentum was propelling you forward. My heart pounded, steady and in beat with my footsteps. It was a distraction that I had once kept pace with while running for leisure and sports, but I had come to easily ignore it now in favor of straining to hear any signs of approaching dangers.

There was no talking now. The last thing we needed was to miss a warning cough or growl while we were cracking jokes. I spared a moment to imagine such a scenario, picturing what Charlie would say if anyone of us—most likely me, seeing how I appeared to be the high-risk member—were done in by a joke and a missed audio cue: "Well, at least she died happy."

I stifled a laugh, forcing myself to concentrate and my expression to keep serious.

With Akamu in the lead and Charlie covering us in the back, I took up the spot in the middle of the group, circling every which way for signs of movement. Professor James walked directly behind me. Alicia, right in front. I could feel the tension in the air raise a notch with every step closer to the safe room. I knew why. It always seemed that something bad happened to our group right before we reached safety. So far, we had managed to get by with numerous close calls. It had given us a false sense of invincibility, even though we knew better. All it would take was one mistake and then everything would change.

Movement. Without missing a step, I swung my gun around, my eyes locking on the spot in my peripheral, a rooftop across the deserted roadway. I saw the professor follow suite, although he paused in step uncertainly and nearly had Charlie back up into him. We glanced at each other, sharing a silent conversation we had had many times before. Was it just the trick of the mind? The aftereffects of exhaustion? Maybe. But then, maybe it was something more physical. With claws. Stalking us, waiting for the opportunity to strike like the savage, calculating predator it was.

The grip on my gun tightened as I glared at the now empty roof, as if daring it to try moving again. It didn't.

One block down, one block to go. I kept my eye on that side of the street, waiting for more movement, my ears straining to catch a sound. I couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that we were being watched, but there was nothing I could do about it without some sort of visible or auditory cue. My gaze picked out dark forms randomly strewn on the street at every odd distance, whether killed Infected or survivors, it was impossible to tell.

Half a block to go. We passed a toppled over newspaper stand. Most of the lightweight merchandise had been blown away, but the ground remained covered in outdated magazine covers sporting articles we could have cared less about. There were also newspapers. For just a moment, I let my eye stray across the blaring headline of one as we passed. The date was a few days before the outbreak had hit our city.

Flu Death Toll Rises.

I almost scoffed out loud. The flu. Honestly. What a lie.

We reached the corner on the last block. Now all that separated us from a possible and much needed safe night's sleep was an unchecked intersection. Akamu peered around the corner, taking my job as scout as he always did when we were out in the sheer open together. I glanced around the street, still watching the rooftops in my peripheral. Nothing. Still. Absolutely no sign of anything. But the feeling of being watched remained. It confused me, set me on edge. We should have run into something by now.

The athlete pulled back. "State Farm, right?"

I knew his deep voice was directed at the professor and me since we had been the ones to memorize the map. I nodded, knowing Professor James was doing the same.

Akamu looked straight at me, and the muscles in my legs tensed instinctively in preparation for his next words. "I can see it. But it's across the street. Two doors down."

I stepped forward. "Stay here, I'll check it out."

No one argued with me. They had learned by now that it would make little difference. I wondered if they realized how much of a high I got from my role.

Yeah, that sounded pretty sick. Even to me.

I stepped past Akamu, glancing up and down the new street. Empty here, too. What looked like firelight danced across the blackness a few blocks ahead, but that was hardly uncommon. There were small fires like that everywhere. My gaze locked on the tall brick building sandwiched between a café and a hair salon. Its two small front windows had been boarded up and secured with metal bars. The door was shut, hopefully unlocked and hopefully with a lifeless building behind it.

I gripped my gun. It helped steady my nerves. According to instructions at the last safe house, all we had to do was get into the front office and the safe room would be directly ahead. The backroom of an old insurance firm. Ironic. I wondered if the irony had occurred to the people who had built the safe house.

This time across, I chose to take the slower option. No mad sprinting here, not when we were this close. I swung around back and forth to keep my angles covered and crept towards the five-story building. Again, I reached the other side without incidence. Feeling the gazes of my companions on my back, I reached out and gingerly tried the heavy door. It pulled open. So, not unlocked then. That could be good or bad.

With a deep breath, I opened it enough to poke my head in, my eyes and ears straining. I felt like I was sticking my neck on the chopping block and braced for the guillotine. But nothing happened. After a few seconds, I took out my flashlight and shone it around the dark interior. The place was a mess, but in an organized sort of way. The tables and chairs were shoved up and stacked against the walls and windows, leaving for a clear path to a large steel door that was easily recognizable for what it was.

It was a sight that nearly made me giddy with relief. I shoved the feeling aside and withdrew. If I had been more selfish with my self-preservation, I would have headed straight for that door and into safety, trusting my companions to have the sense to follow me. But I didn't. Couldn't. My brain wasn't wired like that.

I gave the all-clear sign, and the others headed towards me. I pressed up against the building and leveled my gun to keep watch over the street behind them. It would take mere seconds, and then we would all be safe. Maybe nothing was going to happen after all. Maybe this night would be the exception.

And that, of course, was when everything went to hell.

Several blocks to our left, a loud explosion rocked the street. Someone screamed. The five of us jerked towards the sound, weapons raised and stances ready. Moments later, four figures burst out into the street, backpedaling as fast as they could as they fired back into an oncoming horde of Infected. They were coming our way. Alicia broke into a run, covering the remaining few feet within seconds and cowering behind me although her gun was pointed at the disturbance with a nervous resolve.

"I knew something like this was going to happen," I heard Charlie say, hefting up his gun.

"Get over here!" I hissed, frustrated that the other three were still standing in plain view in the middle of the highway. They jerked to life, sprinting across the single lane separating us.

I yanked open the door and stood back. No one moved. Akamu raised his shotgun, his eyes burning with determination. "We must help."

I felt the same way, but I hadn't been about to force any of them to risk their lives for strangers. "We're going to. Akamu, come with me. Charlie, sniper mode, upstairs. Pipe bomb for a distraction when we get close. If we need it. Prof, Alicia, cover us. Keep the door open. If things look bad, get in the safe room and save yourselves."

"Sniper mode? You play too many video games," rasped Charlie under his breath, rushing into the building and up the nearest set of stairs.

Without bothering to see if anyone else was following my orders, I swung around and sprinted flat out towards the commotion. A heavy pounding behind me told me that Akamu was at my heels. It was a simple plan, probably not the one with the highest success considering I was separating us, but it made the most sense. Charlie had the best aim out of all of us as long as he wasn't moving. He could hit a target from several blocks away. A natural sniper. The professor and Alicia could hold their own against most creatures as long as they had their backs to something. Akamu and I, meanwhile, were the athletes. If anyone of the five of us were going to put our necks on the line, I would prefer it be the two of us. The others might have their strengths, but constantly engaging in unnecessary and intense loads of physical exertion was not one of them. I didn't have to worry about Akamu keeping up with me. I often had trouble keeping up with him.

The commotion was a mere two blocks away from us now. The group of survivors still had their backs to us, but I thought I saw a few fleeting glances in our direction, although that may have just been looks to ensure they wouldn't run into anything. Behind them, I estimated over two dozen still-standing Infected and a number more lying or writing on the ground. They all seemed to be the normal type. But you never knew.

"Over here!" I shouted over the gunfire. I wasn't too concerned with keeping quiet anymore. Besides, I didn't want to end up getting mistaken for an Infected and shot.

The survivors definitely noticed us now. They had been veering off as if to run down one of the alleyways, but now their course changed and they headed straight for us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Akamu swinging around his shotgun in preparation to fire. I did the opposite, swinging the gun over my shoulder out of the way, instead choosing to pull at the hilt of the katana strapped to my back. The feel of the heavy, familiar weight in my hands made my blood pound in exhilaration.

This was going to be fun.

We collided with the group in the middle of an intersection one block away from the safe house. Akamu fired, the wide range of his shotgun pellets wrecking havoc through the front line of the oncoming horde. I dodged past the survivors and to the side to avoid getting shot, metal glinting as the sharp end of my blade connected to skin. It sliced through easily, a feeling that the worrying part of me savored. With a gurgled shriek, the Infected collapsed, his head no longer attached to his twitching, flailing body. To my right, another Infected exploded with a perfect headshot, probably from Charlie's sniping.

I slashed again. And again. Blood flew everywhere. I would probably have been more efficient with a gun, but that reasoning was driven from my mind by a mindless savagery that simultaneously energized and terrified.

The others didn't feel the same way I felt when we were fighting, I knew that by the way they sometimes looked at me with an edge of worry and possibly fear after a particular brutal struggle for our lives. They hated the roles they had been forced into, tried everything to avoid it, except for maybe Charlie who had probably played more violent video games than all of us combined. But when _I_ was fighting?

When I was fighting, I felt alive.

We demolished the wave of Infected within minutes with the six of us at it. I lashed out once more and the last standing creature fell over.

The lot of us stood there for a moment, gasping breaths. I knew what the rest were thinking: There were more survivors. We weren't alone. I was still caught up in the thrill of the fight, trying to calm the neurons exploding in my brain.

"Thanks," panted one of the other survivors, a tall black man with a shaven dome and a weak but sincere smile. He looked exhausted, and so did his companions. Then again, Akamu and I probably didn't look like much either.

Nodding, Akamu pointed back the way he and I had come, now only a few buildings and a street away. "Safe house. Hurry. We may have attracted more."

No need to tell us twice. The four strangers hurried towards the open building door where the professor and Alicia waited for us. I could see a gun barrel poking out of a second floor window above them. Akamu and I took up the rear, watching our backs to see if a second wave was in store. A part of me almost wanted that to be the case. My hands gripped tighter around the katana hilt, the bloodied blade held out in front of me, ready and waiting.

Unfortunately for everyone else, I got my wish. The night wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

As we passed the last alleyway on our path, a resounding shriek echoed straight into our very bones. I knew that sound. We all did. A dark figure dashed across a rooftop barely a block away. I heard a loud bang behind and above us. Charlie had tried to take it down. But he'd missed. It was just too fast.

And then around the corner came the second wave of nightmares.

"Run!" one of the survivors shouted.

We turned and bolted. Or at least tried too. Akamu was at my side, backing up as fast as he could while shooting out a few of the approaching Infected. I waved the sword in front of me in frustration. A katana wasn't doing much good, not at this range. Time to switch out. Trying to pull around my gun to a usable position and stick my katana into my belt at the same time, I turned just in time to see the survivor in front of me, a slim woman about my age, suddenly disappear, yanked into the shadows with something wrapped around her body. She barely had time to scream before the darkness engulfed her.

Damn, I should have seen that one coming.

The others turned back to help, alerted to the scream.

"Go!" I yelled. "Just go!"

I gave up trying to ready my gun and resorted back to melee, dodging into the alleyway after the retreating, struggling figure. It was dark, but I could see the dim silhouette of the creature at the end of the tongue, standing on top of a dumpster.

I lunged forward and the katana blade fell heavily with my added momentum, slicing through the snare a foot above the woman's head. The creature jerked back and screeched, stumbling away. I sliced again, severing the parts still wrapped around the other survivor. She exploded out of them, rolling to her knees and drawing a pistol from her side.

"You damn son of a—"

Her gun went off with a deafening bang, and the Infected's head exploded in a cloud of smoke.

"Hurry, go!" I grabbed her arm and hauling her to her feet despite the fact I was the smaller one. Akamu stood on the street at the end of the alleyway, holding his ground, waiting stubbornly for us to return. I shoved her ahead of me. She didn't need much encouraging. A few steps and she regained her pacing, tearing ahead of me with much longer legs.

I went to follow, glancing over my shoulder to check my back.

One mistake. That's all it takes.

Something tripped me, and I fell face first onto the concrete, skinning my hands and knees in the process. The katana clattered away from my fingers. I swore in surprise, shoving myself onto my butt, just in time to hear the same shriek from minutes before and see death flying through the air straight for me.

Claws outstretched, the Infected landed heavily on my stomach, driving the air from my lungs as if it had been a car dropped on me. Vision spinning, body gasped automatically, even as the creature started to rip me apart. The clothing and skin at my abdomen ripped and tore, and pain shot through my body, only to be numbed by the adrenaline and a tidal wave of emotions.

I knew I should have felt terrified. I should have been too terrified to move. My defensive instincts and self-preservation should have reduced me to trying to defend myself from the brutal claws. But I wasn't scared. That feeling had been driven aside. In its place was a hate that ran deep to my core and a fury that rivaled my earlier feelings of appalling exhilaration.

No, I sure as hell wasn't going to die like this. Not without a fight.

"Go to hell!" I screamed, lashing out in defense, the blood pounding in my ears, my mind wiped blank by my own will to survive. I bit and swung and struggled with staggering energy and strength. This creature may have been stronger, faster, and several times larger, but it didn't matter. I swung out my bloody hands with the hopes of getting lucky, of finding the good fortune that had kept my gaunt group of survivors alive for so long. Apparently, it was still resigned to keep me alive for a little longer. With a savage pride I felt my fingernails scratch across open flesh. It wasn't much. Hardly anything. But it was enough.

The creature faltered for a few seconds, apparently stunned by my viciousness. It growled, its hidden face turned down to glare at me. I tried to swing again, but a clawed hand caught the clenched fist, slamming it down into the hard ground.

"I'm not going to die to you!" I spat, the words torn out on their own.

Another low, animalistic growl, but this time the creature tilted its head to the side, pulling away slightly, seemingly no longer interested in attacking. It froze my struggling in a heartbeat, confusion crashing through my fury.

"Eden!"

The Infected's head snapped up to look at the entrance of the alleyway. Akamu had come looking for me. He aimed his shotgun and fired, and suddenly the creature was gone, a hair's breadth ahead of the full force of the bullets, though I was sure I saw specks of fresh blood fly from somewhere and heard the ripping of flesh and cloth. Snarling, my attacker leaped away, disappearing into the darkness before Akamu could get off another shot.

Bewilderment nearly overwhelmed me. The creature had dodged the bullets. It had run away without finishing off what it had started. I lay there, too stunned to move, unable to figure out why. My mind was returning to a reasoning state, trying to reorganize itself, to repair the shattering that had taken place in the face of death and utter uncertainty.

"Eden!"

Hearing my voice snapped me back in an instant. I rolled to my front, my eyes drawn to the street. Akamu and the other survivors were fighting the second wave of the horde, and they were holding their ground. Barely. The athlete had been forced back into the street and was trying to fight his way back to the entrance of the alleyway, but the Infected were everywhere, more than they could handle with what I knew was dwindling ammo and energy. I was cut off, separated, and my friend would only get himself and the rest of the survivors killed if he tried to reach me. If I tried to reach them, I might end up getting shot by the wide spread of his shotgun before he could switch to a melee weapon.

Oh man, I was screwed.

"Go!" I screamed.

Akamu kept fighting.

"GO!" I shrieked again. "Up and over!"

It took him a moment to understand, his eyes fleetingly glancing in the direction of the fire escape behind me.

He hesitated and nearly got bowled over by a lunging Infected. The large survivor next to him swung around and blasted it inches away from Akamu's face, spraying blood and brains into the air. My friend staggered, coughing and gagging, wiping a frenzied hand across his face to clear the grim debris.

"There's too many, we have to leave!" his savior shouted, grabbing the football player's shoulder and propelling him backwards.

I didn't stick around to see anymore. I had my own neck to worry about. So far, none of the horde had come after me, mainly because the ones that did were shot where they stood. That would probably be Charlie.

Snatching up the katana from where it had fallen, I staggered to my feet, ignoring the distantly throbbing pain on my stomach. Luckily, I had several layers of thick clothing. It had managed to damper some of the damage, but I was still in trouble if I didn't get it patched up soon.

I lurched my way towards the fire escape and onto the dumpster, ignoring the body of the still smoking Infected as well as several stray, unmoving forms slumped in a pile below it. Slipping my way through stuff I didn't want to think about, I jammed the katana into my belt and closed the distance between the first landing and my body, using the wall to jump in an eerily similar way to the Infected that had just attacked me.

I grabbed a hold of the iron bars and pulled myself up and over the first landing railing, cursing the fact that the ladder had been pulled up to prevent those on ground level from easy access to it. Then again, maybe that was a good thing. Unless the other Infected somehow developed more logical reasoning to figure out the same path, I wasn't going to be followed.

My lungs still screaming for air, I withdrew the katana once again and charged straight up the four stories towards the top, clutching my torn stomach and heaving and coughing like the Infected lying in a bloody mess on the dumpster below. The sounds of fighting were drawing away, interrupted by a sudden, deafening explosion that I knew to be a pipe bomb, and I figured that Charlie had fulfilled his secondary purpose and must be causing a distraction for everyone to get inside the safe room.

Everyone except me.

The thought wore me down, only adding to the increasing mental and physical exhaustion as the adrenaline leaked away out of my system. By the time I reached the topmost landing, I was wheezing and fighting for every step, struggling not to collapse. There was still danger, even up here.

I looked upward with bleary eyes, staring at the line where brick met sky. It was too high for me. Even in top shape, it would be a struggle to make up the height difference needed to jump up and grab the ledge. Standing on the railing was out of the question. My gaze leveled. Windows. They would have to do.

Prying out the screen of the nearest one, I shrugged off the gun strapped over my shoulder and used the butt end of it to smash through the glass pane. Shards of glass flew in all directions, and a few of them cut at my already bloody hands. I spared a tired moment to consider the fact that Infected blood was mixing with my own. It didn't matter right then. I had kept from succumbing to the virus so far. I was either immune, or I wasn't.

My energy rapidly sapping from my muscles, I broke out the remaining shards so as not to lacerate myself and pushed through, tumbling heavily into the room beyond. It was an apartment building, a living room. And it wasn't empty.

A dark form lay slumped by a barricade of furniture at the door. I was scrambling backwards into a corner before I realized that it wasn't moving and that the smell of death and decay hung in the air. I gagged and turned over to my side, expelling the meager contents of my stomach.

A barricaded door. A dead body. The part of my mind still functioning reasoned that the resident had tried to protect against the Infection, only to die from it anyway or starve to death. Possibly a combination of both.

I wiped my mouth with a shaky hand, looking around. A dark doorway led to the next room. On wobbling legs, I forced myself to my feet and pulled along the wall towards it, tripping forward into a bedroom and landing for the second time that night on my hands and knees. Furious with myself and my weakness, I kicked out at the door behind me, slamming it shut. It needed to be blocked. Had to be. There was a dresser nearby. I used it to pull myself up, and then, with a last burst of strength, I tipped it over, pressing it against the door before fumbling with the lock on the doorknob.

It would have to do. I was spent. The wild fury that had kept me fueled was gone. My friends were either alive and safe, wondering what had happened to me, or my sacrifice had failed.

I collapsed on the bed, hardly caring that it belonged to someone else, a someone else, more less, who was lying in decay just on the other side of the wall. Didn't matter. My mind was shutting down, unable to continue the relentless abuse I was suffering it through. But in the fading darkness, my eye caught movement at the bedroom window.

A hooded form, familiar, outlined in the moonlight, its shadowed face staring in my direction. Watching me.

"If you're going to kill me, do me a favor and don't wake me up," I rasped, and then my body sagged and the image faded into black.


	3. The Trap

**Chapter Two**

The Trap

It was sunset by the time I woke from my restless sleep, still lying flat on my front. Night would be falling soon. I could tell by the direction and color of the fading light streaming through the window. My entire body was stiff and unrelenting, and the various wounds I had procured the night before felt like they were on fire. I ignored the aching and burning and propped myself up on my elbows, looking around with exhausted eyes.

The bedroom was as it had been the last time I had been conscious. The chest of drawers I had upended as a makeshift barricade lay haphazardly against the door, and it was only then that I noticed that I had also dislodged various picture frames, books, and other items that had been sitting on top of it. They lay scattered on the floor, the lifeless faces of the photographs smiling and laughing up at the ceiling through shattered glass. The family and friends of the dead body I had seen the night before.

Looking down at pictures, I should have felt sadness. But for some reason, I felt nothing but anger. I shouldn't be here, intruding on the privacy of the dead. I should be tucked away in a safe house, surrounded by my own friends and makeshift family. I should be planning our next move, weighing our options, trying to find a way get out of the city, away from this whole stupid mess, or just simply figure out how to survive long enough to make it all matter.

Anger washed through my system like fire. I shoved off the bed into a standing position, only to collapse to the floor as soon as my legs realized that they couldn't support my weight. Choking on a mix of emotions, I tried again, only to fall back in frustrated fury.

"I'm not going to die here!" I raged to empty air, as if speaking the idea would make it true. But I knew the reality. Even though the safe house was only a few buildings away, I would never be able to make it in my current condition, and even though a selfish part of me said otherwise, I did not want my friends risking their lives to try to save someone who would only be dead weight.

I was exhausted, injured, and hungry with no possible way I could see of relieving my situation.

Besides death.

"I'm going to make it out of this alive," I said aloud, but unlike my outburst moments before, my voice was now a whisper.

A tear trickled down my cheek. I wiped it away in irritation before the retreat of my anger, just as sudden as it had appeared, drained my energy and I flopped back onto the carpet, staring up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. My backpack dug into my back, but I had no strength left to resituate let alone remove the problem.

"First sign of insanity, talking to yourself," I murmured, turning my head to the side and closing my eyes.

It was dark by the time I woke up next, this time lying on my side, my own subconscious finding the strength in my sleep to relieve the discomfort of the pack poking into my spine. For a few minutes I lay there, breathing deeply and staring into the darkness, my entire body aching with pain. The only light came from the moonlight streaming in through the window. I felt even weaker than the last time I had been awake. It panicked me for a moment, but it was an emotion that was quickly stifled by a return of my determination and resolve. No, I was not going to despair. There was still life left in me, and as cliché as it was, where there was life, there was always hope.

Unless it was Infected life. Then there was just a problem.

Movement at the window caught my well-experienced gaze. The light filtering in was smoothly interrupted. I snapped to attention, shooting up into a sitting position. I glared out the glass in a mixture of fear, hope, and the echoing anger that still edged my mind.

It took me half a heartbeat to recognize the silhouette as the one I had seen the night before, and half a beat more for the foolish fear and hope to die away. My gaze snapped around for one of my weapons. But they were not there.

After a moment of forced memory, I groaned, slapping my palms into my forehead. I had left my AK-47 in the next room. The katana must have fallen out there as well. Maybe even on the balcony outside the smashed window. I had no other weapons with me save for my own body, and I had a feeling that wasn't going to quite cut it in the event of an attack.

I scowled at the hooded figure at the window. The Infected sat there motionlessly, watching with its shadowed gaze. It made me feel like an animal in a cage.

It was not a good feeling.

Looking down, I spotted one of the shattered picture frames lying close by my hand. I snatched it up and launched it at the glass. Despite my weak throw, the object hit the pane with a dull crash, landing squarely where the shadowed face had been only moments before. It filled me with a hollow victory that was short lived. The creature would be back before long.

I turned my attention to the blocked door, debating on if it would be worth the risk to try moving the blockade and retrieve my weapons and whatever else I could find. But there were several problems with that plan. First, I doubted that I had the strength to even stand let alone shift aside a wooden dresser. Second, the thought of the rotting body next door unsettled me, which was silly considering how slicing through Infected and stepping in fresh remains had hardly fazed me the night before. Third, my memories reminded me that the window in that part of the apartment was wide open. If my stalker was still around, it would be able to get into the apartment. Perhaps it was already inside, in which case I would be finished before I even got my hands around a trigger.

Would the Infected be determined enough to find a way in to get at me? All that stood between me and a gruesome death was a window and a bedroom door, hardly much of a defense as I had proven the window to be easily breakable. I'd seen other Infected bust through more menacing barricades.

Nervous and anxious now, I turned to the rest of my surroundings, my thoughts keeping me conscious and the pain at bay for the time being. I was fairly sure that I was trapped here. There was nothing I could see that could help me. There was a small bathroom behind me, but from what I had experienced in other parts of the city, the power was down so the uses for that particular facility would be slim. Past that, the bedroom was the same as any other bedroom—a bed, a closet, a nightstand, the chest of drawers…nothing too useful, although I would have to search through everything just to make sure.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and rubbing my face with my hands. The exhaustion was threatening to claim me again. If I didn't find some help, the times I would continue waking up were numbered. I went to lay back down again when I sat back up with a jolt. My backpack!

I had completely forgotten about it. Eager, I ripped it off my shoulders, tearing at the zipper with shaking fingers and dumping the contents onto the floor. The sight of it scared up a bark of a laugh in relief. Out of caution, I had stuffed it with what supplies I could while still keeping it light enough to not be a hindrance. There were a handful of nutrition bars and various packages of dried food that we had found in the last safe house, a small bottle of water, a kit I used to clean the katana, and a first aid pack. There were also some ammo clips in the front pockets, but little good would they do me without the gun.

Didn't matter right then. I attacked the food and water, not even caring to worry about rationing it. Chances were, I would only have one shot at escaping from this place, and I would have to do it soon if I wanted any chance of meeting up with the rest of my group. We had agreed that we would only remain in a safe house for twenty-four hours. Once that time had passed, the group would have to move on, with or without a member. For all I knew, they had already left and I would have a job of catching up. If I survived long enough to do so. I needed all the strength I could get.

With food in my stomach and my hunger and thirst relieved, the higher functions of my brain kicked up again. I poked at the rest of the food, thinking. I had been worried that the Infected watching me would break in and finish the job. More than enough time had passed for that to happen, yet here I was, still alive. For now.

My lips pulled down into a frown. Perhaps that was the reason I had not met my death quite yet. Perhaps it was enjoying watching me die.

The thought was not comforting. In all honesty, I figured that I would much prefer a swift, although brutal death as opposed to slowly starving. The body in the room next door seemed like a wicked omen thrown at me by a mixture of cruel fate and my own foolishness.

"I'm not going to die here," I told myself again, as firmly and as confidently as I could. It made me feel better. Marginally.

I sighed and sat back, only to lean forward again, grasping at my abdomen in a tremor of pain. Startled, I looked down, only to regret doing so. There were four wide, dark red gashes stretched across the skin, although they were covered in so much dried blood and street filth it was impossible for me to see just how bad—or not so bad—the injury really was. It certainly felt terrible. Perhaps not life threatening, but most definitely it was something to worry about.

I stared at the wound as my stomach moved up and down with my breathing. Then another thought occurred to me, one that had been the cause of so much confusion the night before. Why had that Infected stopped its attack? That was what had been bothering me. That was what was making me so furious and frustrated above all else. It made no sense. We had encountered Infected like that before, the ones that the graffiti at the safe houses called Hunters. Once they started on a kill, the only thing that would stop them was death or being forcibly dislodged. They were maddened, bloodthirsty, and beyond reason.

Yet this one had stopped on its own accord, moments before Akamu had come to pose a threat. Then it had showed an unsettling sense of self-preservation. It confused me, and I hated being confused.

Why had it not finished the job while it had the chance? Why did it not try to finish the job now?

_It's the cat, and I'm the mouse,_ I thought bitterly. It was playing a game with me. Probably waiting for me to leave this stupid apartment. For some reason, I interested it enough for it to hunt me actively. Not like it probably had much else to do. It had all the time in the world out there.

My fingers curled up over my wound, my molars grinding. I had two choices: sit here and die, or brave the outside and try for the slim chance that I might be able to escape.

No brainer, there. If I was going to go down, I may as well go down fighting.

Glancing up at the window to ensure I was alone, I eased myself onto my hands and knees and crawled the few feet to the fallen dresser, prying out the drawers until I found a dark green shirt to my liking. All the clothing was male, and several sizes too large, but what choice did I have? I kept an eye on the window as I shucked off my jacket and ruined shirt and undershirt and slipped the new garment on. It was large enough that I tied a knot in the side to keep it from getting in the way. My jacket would just have to do, even though it was soaked in blood and dirt and smelled worse than a garbage dump.

I grabbed up another stray shirt and, sitting with my back to the bed and my new shirt pulled up around my chest, I used a little bit of the remaining water and the makeshift towel to clean my abdomen wounds. It was all I could do not to cry out in pain as I shakily attempted to wipe away some of the crusted blood and grime. In the end, it was nowhere near perfect and would most likely face an infection before too long if not properly treated and cleaned, but all I needed was for it to be less of a problem in my escape attempt. I doubted the water system worked in the bathroom, and I needed the remainder of the drink to try to get my strength back up to give me a decent chance.

Retrieving the first aid kit, I rifled through it until I found bandages, gauze, and first aid ointment and got to work on patching myself up. I did the best I could, considering, although it took quite a long time before I was finished. It was sloppy, but at least the claw marks were covered.

I took a few moments to rest. My exhaustion leveled out to bearable tiredness. The food and drink had certainly help, as had the long sleep. Maybe I wasn't as helpless as I had felt earlier. Maybe I had a chance after all.

After I regained a bit more strength, I went to work searching every drawer and nook and cranny I could find. I was even able to stand shakily for a few minutes while I searched the top shelves of the closet. In the end, there was little for me. Anything of use had been taken and moved into the main room. All I found was a lighter and a stray screwdriver. Great, if I wanted to try to get close enough to poke some eyes out.

Flicking the lighter on and off to test that it was indeed usable, I eased myself up onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, arms wrapped around my legs, and turned my attention to the next problem—how to leave.

I would give it one more day to try to get as much strength back as possible and just hope that the others hadn't had the chance to travel too far out of my reach. But I thought I might as well try to decide on my avenue of escape while I was doing nothing. I chewed on my lip, staring between the window and the door. If I went through the window, I wouldn't have to break the glass at least as it opened and unlocked on the inside. Once the screen was removed I would be able to crawl out with relative ease. However, my weapons may very well be on the other side of the next window, in which case I would still have to go through broken glass to get what I needed. If the Hunter was waiting for me outside, then it would be a simple matter to pounce while my back was turned.

As for the door…I would need to use extra strength to push aside the dresser enough to give me a clear shot. I would also need to go through the room. With the dead body. Even in here, with the door tightly shut, the putrid smell was impossible to ignore. I had only been able to stand it because my own smell was worse enough to match.

Well, perhaps that meant the hunter would be least likely to be waiting in the next room and hesitant to enter. Maybe its sense of smell would make it unbearable. Plus, at least one of my weapons had to be in that room, waiting for me.

The bedroom door seemed the best gamble. Not that I really wanted to gamble with my life. Like I had a choice.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the familiar dark form of movement at the window. Without missing a beat, I snatched up another discarded item and chucked it as hard as I could. It hit slightly off-center, almost on the wall, but I saw the hooded figure jerk back in response and thought I heard the faintest of growls, muffled by the glass. However, this time the creature did not disappear. It continued to sit there and watch me, as if aware I was planning my escape. Perhaps it realized that I could not hurt it through the glass, that my projectiles were harmless. For the moment.

"Yeah, go ahead and gloat while you can, you smug bastard," I muttered, yanking up the covers and pulling them around my shoulders.

I had been determined to stay up and stare the creature down until it got bored and left, but the next thing I knew, I was waking up with the sun in my eyes. Somehow, even with being watched, I had fallen asleep again.

Automatically, I looked to the window. It was empty. My watcher had gone. And the door was still in place.

Now more awake and revitalized than the day before, a new thought occurred to me as I ran over my possibilities for escape in my mind. I stood up, using the headboard for support, testing my legs. Yes, I had the strength to stand. I took a tentative step. And I could walk, as long as I took it easy and gradually got back into the swing of things. I headed into the bathroom. Each step sent pain across the wound on my stomach, but I ignored it. All right. Ability to walk farther than a few feet without collapsing. Check.

After seeing the toilet, I realized how long it had been since I had last used the bathroom. True, it would probably wouldn't flush, but it's not like it really mattered. Once my poor bladder had been relieved, I stood up and went to wash my hands, only to remember the power was out and therefore the water was most likely dead. Half-heartedly, I tried the faucet. There was a gurgle, a spout of backed up water, and then nothing. Well, at least that answered that question.

Looking up, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Oh god. I looked terrible. My long black hair tied back in a ponytail, usually so wavy and smooth, was mucked up and matted. The black eyes that stared back at me were narrowed and heavy with dark circles. Then there was the fact that I was covered in blood splatters from head to toe. In short, I looked exactly as if I had been trying to survive a zombie apocalypse for the past two and a half weeks. Charming style. I had a feeling it was quickly catching on. Especially the blood.

I forced down the bile rising to my throat, turning my gaze away to focus on what I had originally come into the bathroom to do. I rummaged through the drawers until I found what I had spotted in my first go around—a can of hairspray. Nearly half empty, but it would serve well to partner with the lighter. A makeshift flamethrower. Not too deadly unless at a close range, but it might serve to scare off whatever I ended up facing.

Well, that was done. I probably had all the weapons I was going to get out of this place unless I wanted to weigh myself down with photograph frames and books to use as hand thrown missiles.

Nah. I highly doubted a dictionary would do much good against a hunter.

I retrieved a few of the nutrient bars from the meager remains of my food supply. Half of the remaining water went down after it. I didn't give myself much time to savor it, even though it may very well be one of my last meals.

_Way to keep up your morale, Eden._

While I ate, I kept a steady eye on the window, my only current link to the outside word. I wondered if the Hunter waited for me somewhere close, even though it was daylight, and the middle of the day by the look of it. How determined was it to get at me? How long was it willing to wait for the chance to do so? For a fleeting moment, I considered trying to out wait it. I had enough food to last a week if I was careful. The water would be pushing it, but it might be easier to leave this place if the Hunter got bored and left, giving me enough time to get to the safe house and possibly find provisions…

No. I had been here long enough. The others had probably already left. At that thought, a part of me rose up in indignity and betrayal. After everything I had done, they were just going to give up and leave me for dead? But I knew how I really felt. I wanted them to be safe. I hoped they were.

Carefully, I stood up and crept to the window. Half expecting something to pop out at me, I took a deep breath and pressed my face up against the glass, straining to see as much as I could of the outside world.

A small sliver of the street on either side was visible. Mutilated bodies lay in testament to the battle that had taken place a day before. Past that, the street seemed empty. I turned to look at the other side. Empty there, too, although without a better view, that wasn't saying much.

I turned my attention to the balcony, straining to catch a glimpse of one of my weapons. To my utter relief and simultaneous dread, I caught the glint of the blade of my katana. Alright, so it had been pushed out of my belt while I was crawling through the window. Great. At least I knew where it was. The gun was nowhere in sight, which meant it was most likely in the room next door. I wracked my brains, trying to remember if I had carried it in. Maybe. Probably. I couldn't be sure. The difference could be life or death.

Of course, there was always the chance the Hunter recognized the weapon for what it was and removed it from the equation completely. I rolled my eyes at that. No, its brain was too far damaged by the virus for such thinking. The Infected were smart enough to set up primal traps at times, and the more mutated ones were much almost cold and calculating. But any upper level human train of thought had been absent in all of our dealings. There was no reason for this Hunter to be any different.

Only it had acted different already, hadn't it?

Great. Out of all the Infected I could have had stalking me, I had the one who was smarter than it looked. My luck was running out. If you could call getting trapped in here lucky.

The rest of the day passed in anxiety. I switched between wanting to go out through the window and the door, my mind tossing the ideas back and forth like a football in a high-risk game of catch. Eventually, I gave up reasoning and second-guessing myself and started into an array of exercises. I was pleased to see that my injuries and exhaustion were not as bad as I had originally thought. Before long, I almost felt like my old self again.

And then it was sunset. Maybe an hour left to go until the sun disappeared behind the horizon completely. I wasn't sure why I waited until it was almost night. It would be more difficult for me to see what was coming at me in the dark. But in the sheer daylight, I felt naked, exposed.

Silently, my jaw set, I went about gathering up the rest of the food, water bottle, and the first aid kit, packing it away into my backpack, which I secured on my shoulders. I slipped the screwdriver into my belt and picked up the lighter and the hairspray can. I felt a giddy sense of excitement trill up my spine, the same feeling I got right before a fight. Finally, I was about to be doing something more than sitting around being worthless.

The fallen dresser was easier to move than I had originally managed. Sure, it was still one heavy chunk of wood, but by tugging it forward just enough that I could get part of my body in between it and the door and use my legs to push it out, my back braced against the wall, I managed to shove away within minutes.

Seeing my blockade lying uselessly to the side put my nerves on edge. Now all that was left was a lock and a door.

As silently as I could, I undid the lock, took a deep breath, and slowly pried the door open, tensed and ready to slam it shut in case I found something staring back at me.

There wasn't. Although I was nearly knocked over by the wave of putrid stink. It was worse than I remembered it being, and I nearly lost my hastily eaten dinner then and there.

Gagging, I drew up my shirt over the lower half of my face and tried not to breathe too deeply. It would have been a shame to throw up my possible last meal.

I cracked the door open a little further. The hinges creaked and I winced. No movement. I opened the door a little more and peeked my head out.

The room was still visible in the rapidly darkening shadows as the fading light from the broken window streamed in. I could see the details I had missed in the dark, even though I wished afterwards that I could scrub my memory clean of them.

The front door was barricaded by what looked like every possible bit of furniture in the living room. Slumped up against it lay the dark form that had haunted my mind for the past two days.

It was—had been—a man. It was impossible to tell his age or much else. He had blown most of his head off with a pistol that lay at his side, clutched in rigid hands.

I averted my gaze, stifling my gag reflex as best I could by focusing on locating my weapon.

There. Under the window. Next to the dried vomit I had left earlier. I glanced around the entire room, avoiding looking at the dead body as much as possible. No sign of the Hunter. No sign of any movement whatsoever.

Still…

I shoved the lighter and hairspray into my jacket pockets. Then, with the speed of the sprinter I was, I flung open the door the rest of the way and sprung to the window, snatching up the gun and swinging it over my shoulder. Shoving aside the glass shards I had missed earlier, I rolled out onto the balcony. The katana was in my hand and I was down the stairs to the landing below me within a few heartbeats.

Movement!

The Hunter had been waiting for me.

From its hiding place in a room across the alleyway, it leapt towards me with a shriek, its claws outstretched. I winced and jumped back to avoid getting pinned, swinging out my katana instinctively. But the creature had apparently underestimated the distance. Or it had been expecting my automatic retaliation. It landed several feet away from me on the railing of the landing, one clawed hand clutching the railing above and hanging on to stare at me, looking for all the world like a curious monkey.

I swung out my katana again and the Infected dodged aside to avoid it, growling at me. I was down the steps to the next flight in a flash. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it follow.

One more flight to go. Why hadn't the Infected caught up to me yet? I knew it was more than capable of doing so. Was it worried about the melee weapon in my hand? Did it have that much reasoning ability left in it?

Last landing. Finally. No time for the ladder, plus the noise of it dislodging may have drawn attention. It looked like I was taking the hard way down.

Without missing a step, I launched myself up onto the railing, jumped, twisted in the air so the soles of my sneakers steadied me for just a moment against the outside bottom edge of the landing, and then jumped down.

It was more of a fall than I was prepared for. There was just enough time for me to wonder if being any larger and taller would have helped much before I landed. Hard. I couldn't roll in case I slashed myself open with my own blade, so I landed straight on my feet, full force.

Apparently, I was still not completely recovered from my injuries and exhaustion. The timing and balancing had been terrible. The impact stunned me for a few vital seconds. I lurched to my feet, stumbling about. I shook my head to clear it, then pointed myself towards the nearest street and tried to run for it.

The Hunter dropped out of nowhere directly in my way, landing in a half-crouch in the middle of the alleyway, its claws hanging at its side, its dark face turned in my direction. Too far away for melee. I swung around the gun, but before my finger slipped into the trigger, the Infected was already mid pounce.

Before I had time to yell, I was on my back once again, the creature's heavy weight leaving me with starving lungs. Claws tore at the gun in my hands, ripping it away and off my shoulder with startling strength. Reflex attempted to bring my sword up to defend myself, the anger from the attack before surging through my veins, but the air in front of me was empty.

Gasping for air, I rolled onto my front and staggered to my feet, the energy I had recovered over the past two days draining. My gaze searched the area frantically, questioning why the Hunter had disappeared.

I found it in full crouch now on the other side of the alleyway, my weapon laid out tauntingly at its feet. Almost as if it were daring me to come after it. The alleyway was completely doused in shadows now. Night was falling faster than I had estimated.

For a tense moment I stood there glaring at the Infected, heaving breaths, my body aching. It felt as if the wound on my stomach had ripped a bit more.

"Well aren't you the little smart ass," I spat, the hate and anger that was rebuilding within me forcing out the words.

The Hunter tilted its head to the side.

Holding the katana out in front of me with both hands, I took a step back. The Infected tensed up, preparing to pounce once again.

"Go ahead," I snapped, my tongue out of my reasonable control. If I had been in my right mind, I would have wondered why I was even bothering to speak to this thing. "Just give me the chance. I'll skewer you like a pig."

I took a few more steps back. The creature hesitated. It gave me time to think, to check my surroundings. The dumpster was to my side. That would work. I ignored the decaying bodies stacked next to it and dove to the side for cover.

A loud growl echoed through the alleyway as I disappeared from the Hunter's sight behind the metal. I had seconds before the creature got to me. Seconds.

_A plan, Eden, put that brain of yours to use!_

The katana fell to the side as I plunged my fingers into my jacket pockets, yanking out the lighter and the hairspray, still miraculously there despite all the opportunities to fall out.

I thrust the two objects out in front of me, my mind in reflex survival mode. My right thumb flicked the lighter switch. My left thumb pressed down on the hairspray release.

Out of sheer, dumb luck, the lighter ignited on the first try. A loud FWOOMP of fire shot out from the end of the can in a burst, exploding into the night air as it followed the path of the hairspray. I heard a shriek, startling close and directly above me. Instinctively, I aimed my makeshift weapon upwards to see that the Hunter had just barely landed onto the top of the dumpster right above my head. It got a full face of the fire and flung itself back. I thought I heard it fall into the trash through the open side of the dumpster, growling and shrieking furiously.

I shoved the lighter and the can back into my pockets and was on my feet and running within seconds, the katana clutched at my side.

"That's what you get for playing games!" I heard myself call back mockingly over my shoulder, a wild laugh escaping my lips.

The street was mere feet ahead of me. Whether empty or not, I could have cared less at that point. I would just have to make a run for the safe house and pray that I could get inside without any more trouble…

But in its fury, the Hunter recovered from my burning trick faster than I would have imagined. Somehow, it caught up to me. I found out as much when it plowed into me from the side like a battering ram.

Its much heavier, larger body and our combined momentum carried us through a slightly ajar door that had been hidden in the shadow. I barely had time to reflect on how terrible my luck was going at the moment before we crashed into a set of fully loaded shelves just within the doorframe. The resounding crash was deafening, and I felt my heart leap at the thought that it would surely draw the attention of a horde.

Unfortunately for me, that was the least of my worries.

If I hadn't been so worried about keeping myself alive against the Hunter, I may have heard the sobbing cries. If the Hunter hadn't been so focused on getting at me, it might have sensed the dangerous presence within the abandoned building.

But we had both been oblivious. Although not for long.

The Hunter's momentum caused it to roll off me. In a flash, it was facing me in a crouch, snarling. I was dazed. Confused. The din we had caused resounded in my ears, my body and wound aching with a vengeance. I manage to roll to my knees in the direction away from the Hunter, slamming my back up against the wall. But there was no energy left in my limbs. Even as the anger and hate surged through my mind, my body was too stunned to respond.

With swimming vision, I saw the Hunter crouch low, preparing to pounce.

_This is it_, I thought, strangely calm. _Not even my anger problem can get me out of this._

Turned out I didn't need it. All I needed was my so-called terrible luck.

And a very pissed off witch.


	4. The Safe House

**Chapter Three**

The Safe House

From the dark shadows of the storage room, the witch that our ruckus had startled burst out with a mingled scream of fury and hate and launched herself at the one she saw as the cause of all the noise—the Hunter.

Even in my dazed mind, I was stunned that she would attack someone of her own kind instead of me. I guess she hadn't seen or sensed the non-Infected in her midst, or because the Hunter had been much closer or I was just too small.

Either way, my luck apparently was holding out.

Shrieking in response, the Hunter fell back, dancing away on two feet from the flailing claws with inhuman agility. It was fast. Very fast. Yet the witch was even faster, pressing her advantage of surprise. The air filled with the sound of ripping cloth and shrieks and screams of pain in response. But just as before, the Hunter got over its shock almost instantly. It was cornered, furious, and already in pain. So it attacked back.

The two Infected launched into an all-out war. Blood and spit were flying everywhere. Claws slashed and teeth gnashed and bit. Ear-splitting shrieks resounded in the dead air, contained and magnified by the four walls. More shelves crashed as the Hunter leapt out of the way of its enemy's claws, trying to get behind for a better attack range. The hunter was more agile, but it was difficult to maneuver in such an enclosed space. It growled in frustration, perched atop one of the still-standing shelves, forced to almost lie down flat by the ceiling. The witch scrambled after it, sending the shelf tottering and the Hunter flying, searching for another vantage point. But it didn't matter. Sooner or later, I knew it would lose.

I shook my head clear. The katana in my hand—which had only clamped tighter around the hilt instead of letting go—was slick with nervous sweat. Once the Hunter was dispatched, the witch would come for me next. I could try to run away, make it to the safe house, but I didn't know how much time I would have to do so. There was also the chance I could be stopped by something in the street, giving the shrieking pale creature more than ample time to pursue. There was only one option for me. I would have to try to take it down while it was distracted.

I rose unsteadily to my feet, leaning up against the wall until my head stopped spinning. That Hunter was running out of room now. Soon, it would be chased into a corner and ripped to pieces. I smiled disgustedly at the irony. It seemed my life was full of it nowadays.

"Keep it in one spot!" I shouted, drawing the katana into a ready position. The words were out of my mouth before I had time to realize I had spoken and chide myself for doing so unnecessarily.

But to my continual amazement, the Hunter stopped its wild, frantic jumping and ducked behind a shelf and into a corner, pulling the metal shelving down on itself like a crude, imperfect shield. The witch screamed in frustration at this new development, but continued its psychotic assault, attempting to claw through the narrow spaces in the shelving at the trapped, hissing Hunter.

It was all I needed.

My mind blank, almost detached from my body, I lunged forward, sword at the ready. Everything seemed to slow. I saw the witch's claws raise and fall, its shoulders and back muscles taut with offensive wrath. As if from far away, I saw the flailing form fill my view, suddenly bright and clear against the nearly pitch-black shadows. There was a wave of sick thrill that shot into my throat and exploded into my head as I swung the sword.

The witch screamed, clawing at the back of her neck with one hand where I had slashed the blade, the other hand still trying to reach the Hunter. Her mistake. The lethal mistake of a crazed, single-minded monster.

I swung again and again, hacking and slashing until blood was flying, the ruthless thrill building in my chest, threatening to explode, to blind me.

One more slash. With a strangled, gurgling gasp, the creature simply fell over. I pulled back, ready and watching for retaliation. The ghostly pale limbs twitched once, twice. And then were still.

The image was enough to trigger a distant memory. Of an apartment. A normal day. A friend…

I jerked back, shaking my head, and it was as if something inside me broke.

No. Not now. I didn't want that memory.

I didn't want it.

Stop.

Tears brimmed at my eyes. I stood heaving for breath over the still body, staring down at the dead witch in a daze with only the minimal light from the setting sun and the rising moon trickling through the door to aid my vision. Blood pounded furiously in my ears. But I was suddenly myself again. The relentless, savage part of me had disappeared, just as it always did. Now that the rush was rapidly fading, my body started aching all over again, the pain so severe it was unable to be dulled even by the adrenaline coursing through me.

From behind me came a crashing, growling noise, and I whirled to face it, my katana held at ready. The Hunter was trying to crawl out from under the metal shelving, shoving and pushing and snarling its way free. My grip on the sword hilt tightened, my body tensing, but the creature merely retreated into a corner and started licking at its wounds. I could feel its eyes watching me.

I was still breathing heavily, the numbness that I had felt during the attack was rapidly being replaced by exhaustion. I stared at the Hunter, unsure what to do, unsure of my own thoughts.

Grunts and snarls from the street beyond told me our fight had summoned more trouble. I swung around to face them, knowing full well that with my current strength, I would fall easily. The first body filled the doorway within moments, blocking out the little light. I braced myself for the defense, only to be shoved aside as something shot past me.

There was a scream that was cut short almost as immediately as it had started, and the Infected at the door fell back, its neck ripped open by claws and teeth too fast to see. With a threatening shriek, the Hunter leapt off the body and out of sight, and I heard more screaming and ripping clothing and flesh. I heaved myself to my feet, limping to the doorway and out into an alleyway.

To my surprise, there were only a handful of Infected. Probably less than a dozen. To my even greater surprise, the Hunter had already ripped through half of them. I realized suddenly what a mistake it had been for me to step out into the open. The Infected weren't interested in the Hunter unless it was ripping them apart. It was just another Infected, after all.

They were really more interested in me.

The nearest one charged, its expression and movements more wild and animalistic in the twilight. I reacted instantly, my sword flashing for what felt like the thousandth time that night, my muscles screaming for rest and relief.

My attacker collapsed into a bloody heap, only to be replaced by two more. I screamed in pain and frustration and lashed out, cutting and slicing at them as they bore down on me. Another final slash and then my muscles seized up in pain, the katana at last falling from my grasp as I fell to my knees with a sob, clutching at my pain-wracked arms and body and closing my eyes against what I was sure would be even more pain.

It never came. I heard the by-now familiar growl startling close. Then the screams of the two Infected as they were ripped apart. And then silence.

All I could hear was my breathing and the gurgling sounds of those dying around me. I kept my eyes shut tight. My body trembled from exhaustion. For what seemed like hours, it seemed as if the world and time had frozen around just those few moments. It was all I knew. All I cared to know. I didn't want to fight anymore. For the first time since this entire zombie fiasco had begun, I understood exactly how my companions had felt every time they left a battle alive.

I was sick of this fighting. I was sick of this constant struggle for life. My will to survive and faith that I could do so had been severely shaken in the past little while. I felt my world crumbling down around me. I had, at long last, realized how vulnerable and helpless I truly was. I was not a fighter. I was not a killer. I was just a scared little girl.

The Hunter growled, the sound too close for comfort. But it was less aggressive than before. Still shaking, I peeked a gaze towards the sound. The Hunter was crouched mere inches away, its hooded face filling my view. With a strangled gasp, I flung myself away, backpedaling until I was pressed up against the wall. Tears streamed down my face, unnoticed and unchecked. My filthy, blood coated hand tried to wipe them away automatically, only to realize that I was smearing the blood and tears all over me.

The Hunter remained where it was, watching.

"Just kill me," I pleaded, my hoarse voice small and pathetic. "Get it over with. I won't fight back this time."

It tilted its head to the side, continuing to stare at me for several long, tense moments. Then, to my utter amazement and mixed disappointment, it turned and jumped away, disappearing into the darkness.

I sat there for what felt like ages, gasping down air as more tears poured down my face, my entire existence a numb, throbbing source of pain and exhaustion and aching. I felt like curling up into a ball and just dying, then and there, surrounded by the Infected dead. My own fragility had been rudely shoved into my face at my own deserving. But now a new truth was breaking through my stone hard beliefs, shattering my already dwindling sanity.

The Infected were not all mindless, soulless monsters. The Hunter was different. Somehow, the virus had allowed it to retain some shred of humanity and understanding in that diseased brain. Somehow, it understood my words. It had chosen not to kill me, even though it had more than enough opportunity to. Even though I had done my best to harm it in any way I could. I didn't know why or how, but I knew without thinking that it had never intended to hurt me after I had left the apartment. It had been playing with me. That was all. And not like a cat and mouse. More like…a friendly dog.

The Hunter dropped down next to me, scaring me nearly enough to scream, but my self-preservation had at last kicked in, and I kept my mouth shut at the last minute. I eyed it warily, the sudden outburst of tears now drying in salty streaks down my face.

"Now what do you want?"

It looked at me, glanced at the street and then back at me again. I turned to look at the street too, and the sight of it allowed for a single thought to push through the haze in my mind. The safe house. That was the whole point of this. That was my goal.

Whimpering in pain, I shakily, slowly climbed to my feet. The Hunter drew away a few feet, but it did not leave, remaining to watch me as I wobbled uncertainly and then stumbled forward, each heavy step shooting pain through my nerves.

Somehow, I made it to the insurance building. I'm not sure how I managed to cross the street with support, but before I had fully understood what I was doing, I was pulling with all my strength at the front door, forcing my way inside to the quiet empty darkness beyond. I stumbled about, blind and confused, deadened fingers feeling my way along the stacked furniture to the back wall, and then sudden empty space.

The safe room.

My hands searched the walls on either side of the doorframe, at last catching a light switch and dousing the room in yellow artificial light.

I had never been so relieved to see a room in all my life, even though it was dingy and small. It looked as if it had once been a back storage area, more long than it was wide. Metal shelves pressed up around the sidewalls, and a long table sat in the back sporting various pieces of equipment. Sleeping bags were piled in a heap in a corner under the table, beckoning me, but something on the wall in the back caught my eye.

Using the shelving for support, I made my way towards it, squinting in an effort to read the graffiti underneath a large painted U. The message and the letter seemed to be the freshest writing there, standing out clearly amongst all the others. The closer I got, I realized with a jolt that there was a pile of food and medical supplies stacked underneath the writing.

_Eden,_

_Tried to find you, but too dangerous. We are all okay, thanks to you. We waited 24 hours. Left to next safe house. Sorry. So sorry. We pray you are alive. God willing, we will see you again. _

I stared at the message, a mixture of hurt and relief twisting at my chest. My friends were safe and alive, or at least had been at the writing of this message. But I had been left behind.

Left for dead.

Yet they had left me supplies in the slim chance that I had survived. They had wanted to believe I was alive. They had wanted to believe I was invincible.

If only I still felt the same way.

Something stirred at the safe house door. I glanced over and saw the Hunter standing there, peering in from where it partially hid behind the wall in the shadows, its gaze, as ever, focused on me.

"You know, these rooms are meant to keep you out," I told it resignedly.

As if to prove me wrong, it crept past the doorframe a few feet and then dropped into a crouch, a deep growl vibrating from the depths of its hood.

"Ha. Great. You really _are_ a smart ass. Just my luck, getting stalked by the only Infected in the entire world with a sense of humor."

The words were pointless, stupid. But it felt good to talk. It was the only outlet I had left to me now, and the Hunter was the only living creature left around to listen.

I shuffled towards the entrance again, and the Hunter took a step back, unsure what I was doing. Not that it had to worry. My weapons were back in the alleyway, and I was in no condition to get into a fight.

"I'm tired. I need to sleep. I'm going to shut the door. I don't care if you stay."

The hidden gaze watched me as I stepped past it. I hesitated, glancing furtively at the creature, but it continued to sit there, making no move to try to leave. Fine, if it wanted to stay and rip me apart in my sleep, so be it. I was beyond caring.

I swung the door shut with hands and arms shuddering from exhaustion. Numb fingers tugged at the lock and bar, and with a heavy clunk I was locked in with the Infected.

Suicidal, I decided. Definitely suicidal.

I turned and stumbled back to the corner where the sleeping bags were, dragging them out and falling onto them in almost the same movement. My entire body gave one last shudder, and then my muscles sagged and released, sending my mind to a world where the nightmares were less terrifying than the living reality.


	5. The Break

**Chapter Four**

The Break

The next time I awoke, I felt in worst condition than when I had last been conscious. I decided that it felt akin to being run through a meat grinder and then burned over a fire pit. Struggling to see through the haze of aches and pains, I rolled onto my back, only to groan upon realizing I still had my backpack on. It was not very comfortable. Like sleeping on a rock.

I struggled up onto my elbows, shrugging the offending article off my shoulders and shoving it away. Then I flopped back down, feeling miserable and resentful of everything and anything without any clear thought as to why.

A soft growl sounded off at the sudden stopping of my movement, and I raised my head enough to see the Hunter crouched in the opposite corner, hiding in the shadows under the table. It was leaning up against the wall, curled up like a cat, its hooded face pointed in my direction. When it saw me notice it, it lowered its head onto its arms. Apparently, it just wanted to make sure I knew it was there. My own head fell back onto its resting place, unable to be held up any longer.

I woke again sometime later with no idea how much time had passed. There were no windows to judge the time of day, and although there was a clock on the wall telling me it was around the middle of the afternoon, I had not bothered to notice the time when I had arrived or when I had last woken up. The pain had deadened slightly, not because it had healed, but because hunger and thirst was overpowering it.

Pulling myself to my feet, I made my way to the pile of supplies left on the table in the far corner, directly above the resting Infected. At my movement, the Hunter came to alert, moving into the position that preceded a pounce and growling at my approach.

I ignored it. I was fairly sure it wasn't going to hurt me now, and even if it did, death was probably the best painkiller.

Haha. Good to know my bland sense of humor had survived.

There was a chair pushed back against one of the shelves. I dragged it closer to the table, which meant closer to the Hunter, who snarled warningly but eventually settled once I had sat down. It was apparently unwilling to move from its resting spot despite my legs being a mere foot or so away from its arm. I certainly didn't have the energy left to mind.

Now no longer having to worry about whether I could stay standing, I sifted through the pile at my leisure, taking careful note that there would be more than enough medical supplies to tend my aching wounds and that I had enough food to last more than a week. Enough time to recover and get back on my feet, although I had no clue what I would do then. It would take me at least a few days still to regain the strength to be able to even attempt venturing outside, and by then my companions would be beyond my reach. I was weaponless and alone, left to recover in a safe house in the middle of a dead city. My chances of surviving without a protective group were very slim. I would have better luck betting on the arrival of aliens than my reunion with my friends.

It was a saddening thought. One I didn't want to dwell on for too long.

I plucked out a bottle of water, struggling with it for several moments before my weak hands managed to break the seal and unscrew the cap. Greedily, I downed most of it in one go, the lukewarm liquid quenching my dry throat and sending a small ripple of energy through my core. It tasted stale and flat, and I had never really liked bottled water, but damn it was good. It may as well have been the elixir of life. I moaned in relief, sitting back and running a dirty hand over my face, letting the refreshment slowly waken me.

There was a soft, plaintive whine and I looked around in surprise and slight nervousness at the unfamiliar sound. The Hunter stared up at me from the shadows, fidgeting. I looked at the water bottle in my hand, then back to the Infected, and I sighed again, reaching for a fresh bottle.

"I guess since you haven't killed me yet, it's the least I can do."

I glanced around as I twisted the cap on the new bottle, having less trouble with it than the first. There was a set of steel bowls sitting on one of the shelves alongside various other cutleries and cooking tools. I stood and grabbed one.

"I know it might seem demeaning, but you don't mind drinking out of a bowl, do you?"

Another whine. I took it as a positive sign.

Dumping all the contents of the bottle into the bowl, I gingerly set it down on the ground in front of the Hunter. Before I had even pulled away, the Infected lunged forward, thirstily lapping and sucking up its fill.

"Well. Maybe it's not a version of rabies after all. I think."

I sat back, watching it for a moment with a vague mixture of amusement and confusion, then leaned forward and rubbed my face with both hands. The entire situation felt surreal. For a moment, I wondered if I was still dreaming. Everything felt wrong, out of place, and it wasn't just the Hunter at my feet acting like we'd never been enemies. Barely a few days ago, I had been leading my little band of survivors to an unknown but optimistic destination, ruthlessly killing anything and everything that had been corrupted by the virus and had had the gall to get in our way. Now here I was, sitting locked up in a safe house with my friends probably miles away, continuing on into a future I had tried to lead them to, while I sat and slept and tried to recover my strength and health for no definite reason.

What was the point?

The despair and helplessness welled up inside me like a geyser, threatening to burst out in a stream of tears. I bit my lip and clenched my hands into fists until I felt like I was going to explode. After several lengthy moments of struggling with myself, fighting against the urge to break down, I managed to regain control. I gasped down deep breaths, focusing on my heartbeat, trying to slow it, steady it. I couldn't break down. I had to keep myself going, keep myself alive until all hope was completely lost.

The Hunter growled beside me and I blinked open my eyes, wiping away the residue of tears. The water bowl was empty. I gave the creature a small, sad half-smile.

"Looks like I've been left for dead. Just like you."

The hooded head tilted to the side. Then the Infected shuffled its weight so its back was to me and rested its head on its arms again, facing away towards the wall. I finished off the rest of my own water and reclined back in the chair, watching the creature as its body rose and fell in steady breathing.

For the first time, I took a good, long look at it. It was easily twice my size and wore a navy blue zip-up hooded sports jacket and thick gray sweatpants, both articles of clothing covered in blood and grime, ripped and torn in more places than one for more reasons than one. The only skin I could see was its bare hands, although they were covered in so much dirt and dried blood that I couldn't tell the true skin color. Frowning, I tried to remember if I had seen anything of the face besides the occasional blurred glance of the mouth and the chin. The creature's face had been hidden deep in the shade of the hood. Every time I had seen it had been in the shadow or in the darkness, and my memory was clouded with emotion and pain.

Oh well. I suppose it didn't matter much. I had a feeling I'd be seeing a lot of it around. I pushed back from the table, picking out an armful of the medical supplies and bringing them over to the sleeping bag pile where I collapsed back and dumped the items next to me.

I rested a hand on my stomach, wincing and cringing. My body was in so much pain in so many places, most of the feeling had been replaced by a dull, tingling numbness. There was so much physical trauma going on with me that it seemed my mind had suffered from overload. Which was fine. It would make patching myself up a tad easier without painkillers.

I tugged at my shirt, about to pull it off to reveal my injury for care, but I hesitated, staring at the back of the Hunter. The fingers fell away in embarrassment, even though the creature's face was turned away. Infected or not, I wasn't about to expose myself like that. Agitatedly, I glanced around the room again with little mind as to what exactly I was glancing around for. There was a black wooden door nestled between two of the steel shelves halfway along one of the sidewalls. I had missed it earlier, too intent on other things. I labored to my feet and headed for it.

The door opened up into a dark side room. I searched for the light and found it behind a shelf. A sharper, whiter light filled the room. The building must have been running on its own generator or a different part of the circuit. Although that might be a problem if the said generator were too loud.

Interested, I stepped in and looked around. There was another door. This one opened enough to allow me to see into a cramped bathroom area. The main area looked like a cross between a janitorial closet and a department store storage room. Whoever had built this safe house had chosen well and also had the state of mind to include as many supplies as possible. There was something that looked like a small corner shower with a low-set water faucet, a long dangling pipe from a shower head, and foot-high white walls to contain the water. A mop and bucket sat inside the enclosed space, so I figured the small facility was for cleaning, although I had other ideas. The rest of the wall space was taken up by more shelving, but these shelves were stacked high with everything from towels to changes of clothes sorted by gender and age group. It seemed like many of the stacks had been raided and haphazardly replaced, probably by anxious survivors who had previously visited the place.

I stepped forward to browse through them, but a sudden grumbling and hunger pang made me grimaced. Better get food first. The water wasn't cutting it.

I returned to my seat by the Hunter, who had curiously perked up to watch me. Sorting through the stockpile, I pulled out several cans and packages that peeked my interest—peanut butter, salt-free crackers, several cans of fruit, and a couple cans of tuna and ready to eat fish and black beans. Along with mounds of junk food, although that would be for snacking later. Perfect. My friends knew me well. There was a can opener on the shelf I had found the bowls on, and I snatched it up eagerly along with a fork, prying open the fish and black beans. I didn't care if it was loaded with salt. I felt like I deserved some indulgence.

The first bite was like heaven, better than I remembered it. I tried to savor it, but my hunger was too demanding. In a few minutes, half the contents of the rather large can were sitting in my stomach.

I set it down, feeling suddenly sick but agreeably satisfied at the same time.

The Hunter whined.

I raised an eyebrow at it, taking an educated guess what it wanted. "I thought you only ate…you know."

I waved a hand vaguely, hoping to get the point across that my tired mind couldn't form into words.

The Hunter stared at me for a moment. Then it lunged out, teeth snapping viciously at my legs.

In a panic, I lurched away from it out of the chair, tripped, and landed hard on the concrete floor. Wildly, I looked around, expecting to see the lunging form of the Infected pouncing for my throat. What I saw instead made me scowl bitterly, my heart pounding furiously in the aftereffects of the faked attack, matching the pounding anger in my skull. The creature was sat contentedly in its corner, watching me with what I knew to be amusement even though I couldn't see its expression.

"Do that again and you go outside," I snapped, pointing towards the exit door for emphasis. I think we both knew that I had little to back up my threat with—if it wanted to stay, there was nothing I could do to stop it. However, I saw its body sag obediently and it lowered its head, whining as if I had kicked it.

As I gasped down deep breaths to try to steady my system back to normal, I thought it over, trying to reason through this Infected's strange behavior. I was confused about what to think about it. This creature had initially tried to kill me, only to back off for reasons known only to itself. Then it had watched me for two days straight as I sat in a prison cell of my own making, patiently waiting until I had emerged, not to kill me and finish the job, but to tease me, attacking only when I showed signs of aggression and leaving me relatively unharmed.

Now, just as before, the creature seemed to have been playing a game with me. Like the previous game, it had done something I deemed threatening, but it had apparently no intention to hurt me. Grabbing the gun earlier had been an act of defense, and pouncing on me after the little fire episode had been out of retaliation. I hadn't played by its rules and that had pissed it off.

Obviously, telling it off was also not a part of its rules.

"Why?" I snapped hoarsely, the forced word making my throat raw.

It tilted its head again.

"Why haven't you killed met yet? Why did you…why are you…" I took a deep breath, trying to force my jumbled thoughts into order. "You're a freak, you know that? You're not acting like the others. Those monsters. Not even close. What the hell is wrong with you?"

The creature stared at me. I stared back. Then it began to growl, the grating sound gradually growing louder. My heart jumped into my throat. It was an animalistic growl, the same aggressive tone I had heard the first time. I tensed for an attack.

Then, to my relief and increased confusion, the growling stopped. The Hunter turned on its side and curled up against the wall, resolutely and firmly setting its back to me.

My hand rested over my chest, feeling the pounding of my heart as I tried to calm myself down for the second time that night. What the hell was I thinking, trying to taunt it like that? Where had those words even come from?

I stared at the Infected's back for the longest time, my fight or flight instincts slowly settling down, leaving me just as drained as before if not more so. It allowed me time to think, which probably wasn't the sanest course of action, because in my tired brain, a meager, senseless thought popped through.

Oh god, I had insulted it. My words had hurt it. Maybe it had already realized it was different from the other Infected. Maybe…

My mind was exploding, the onslaught of torn beliefs from before kicking up in a fury.

_Stop it, Eden! Stop thinking like that!_

It was a zombie for hell's sake! It didn't have feelings to hurt. It didn't have thoughts to dissect and analyze. It wasn't like me. It was a monster. An Infected. _Infected_. How many people had I watched die at the hands of those things? How many of my Infected friends and classmates did I watch in horror try to kill me and the other survivors? How many? _How many?_ And none of them have shown a shred of humanity. Not one.

I'm supposed to kill them! I'm supposed to destroy them before they could destroy me! They're mindless, soulless, blood thirsty, evil…

Somehow I made it to my feet, stumbling and crashing into the shelves, setting things rolling and crashing to the floor. I didn't care. I was beyond that. All I knew in my raging, damaged mind was that I had to get away from the Hunter and everything he represented. I had to escape.

From sheer luck and possibly a wavering sense of self-preservation, I made it to the side room door instead of the exit. In my mental state, I probably would have charged out into the street and into the waiting claws of death. I slammed the black door shut behind me and fumbled with the lock until my unfeeling fingers gave up and took for granted that it had set.

I collapsed onto the concrete floor and started to sob.

My head clutched in my bloodied hands, my fingernails digging into my scalp, I curled up into a shaking, twitching ball and screamed and raged and cried until I felt sure I would burst, because there was no way my frail body could hold in so much raw emotion, so much pain. Why had everything gone so wrong? Why had the world gone to hell, only to leave me behind to try to fight a hopeless, endless battle?

I raged at my friends for leaving me behind, for taking with them the only real thread of sanity that had tied me together. Back in my hometown, I had craved for my privacy. I had despised being so close to others. I had hated the fact that day and night there was always someone there, someone who knew me and wondered about me and cared.

I would give anything for that now.

Anything.

Without someone to keep my mind off of everything that had happened the past few weeks, without a goal or a prayer or a purpose to keep me occupied, I had nothing to stop me from thinking the thoughts and memories I had shoved aside in favor of survival. It felt like a wall had been erected at the start of all this, enabling me to remain calm and controlled in the numberless life and death situations. Empowering me to be the fighter my long-gone group of survivors had relied on and looked up to.

But now that wall was crumbling down. The poisonous thoughts it had held back were leaking through.

I thought of the school I would never graduate from. I thought of all my dreams lying scattered and shattered and impossible to retrieve. I thought of the family that most likely believed I was dead if they were even alive and well enough to care. I thought of the friendships I had made with the fellow survivors and had lost just as quickly. I thought of the future and how I felt completely powerless to control it. And I thought of the hunter on the other side of the black door.

A hoarse, animalistic scream of despair tore from my throat that my pounding ears could not hear. My mind was going. I could feel it. The last of my wavering sanity was snapping like a brittle twig against a hurricane. My friends were gone. I would never be able to catch up to them. I would never be able to survive without them. I was too weak to fight. Too injured to move. Too pained to feel.

Maybe I was turning into an Infected. Maybe at long last the virus had taken over my mind. Or maybe this breakdown had been coming for a long, long time. I had just been too foolish to realize it.

Something nudged my foot. The door swinging open. Not locked as I had thought. I cowered instinctively, drawing up my knees further into my chest, my mentality too far down the black hole of misery to register what was going on.

A moment later, something brushed up against me, heavily setting itself down by my side. My nearly deafened ears vaguely heard ragged breathing. And a soft, familiar whine.

Without seeing, without thinking, I lashed out, kicking and punching and screaming and cursing. The Hunter leapt away with its inhuman agility, crashing back into a shelf and then retreating out of my reach into the other room.

But it did not run. I glared at it through the tears from where I laid on my side, my arms wrapped around my shuddering form, gasping for every breath, for every moment of life. There was no reasoning left in me to go after it, to continue my relentless attack.

"Get away!" I screamed, my voice unrecognizable. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

I glowered at it some more, but the tears were starting up again. Sobs built in my throat. I locked my arms around my head and bawled with renewed passion, unsure why I suddenly felt like my heart was being wrenched apart.

A moment later, the Hunter approached again, once more dropping its larger body next to me. Without thinking, my arms shot out. The creature jerked away slightly, apparently expecting another attack, but the fight had gone out of me to be replaced by an aching hole of lonely despair that I felt like I had to fill at any cost. In my blindness, my arms wrapped around its neck, my face burying into the blood-soaked fabric of its chest.

The creature let my actions go without reprisal, and after a moment I felt it relax in my shuddering embrace, setting itself on its side so I could pull myself closer. The logic in my mind no longer registered what it was I was holding. My thoughts were empty. The anger and frustration that had been directed at the Infected and its peculiarity was spent. All that existed now was the burning hole of emptiness and my trembling sobs. I just wanted to be held. I wanted to be close to another living creature.

I didn't want to be alone.

A heavy weight brushed up against my side, a clawed hand resting on my shoulder in an awkward show of comfort. The creature began to growl again. But it was a gentle sound that I felt vibrate through me, filling me with the reassuring, understanding words that it could not say.

In the face of the comfort and the affection I had avoided for so long, I felt the last vestiges of my mind slowly shut down, preparing me for the long, unfeeling sleep ahead.


	6. The Change

**Chapter Six**

The Reason

"They have an AK-47 here? How does that even make sense?"

Charlie glanced over from where he was examining a hunter rifle. He had just relieved it rather violently from its glass case a moment earlier. "Our city is being destroyed by the zombie apocalypse, and you're wondering about the stock inventory of an outdoor sporting goods store?"

I lifted the AK-47 to my shoulder, peering through the laser scope. I aimed it at a fake bison head hanging over more hunting equipment. Clear shot. Perfect.

The gun was a bit too big for someone of my small frame, but I decided that it would do, even if it would be hell to carry around. Besides, I needed to work up my strength, and I preferred to depend more on my katana for actual destruction anyway. This weapon would just be a last resort.

"Eden, we found some flashlights and backpacks."

Akamu and Professor James approached us through the shadows, their arms bulging with various supplies that they dumped onto the floor. The large athlete looked up at me solemnly.

"We also picked up some other supplies we thought we might need."

"Good job," I said, crouching down by the pile and selecting one of the slim, lightweight backpacks for myself. "Grab yourselves some guns and all the ammo you can carry without getting weighed down. We need to get going before something realizes that we're here."

"I don't have any money. How are we going to pay for this?"

I turned to Alicia, smiling slightly, but my expression was otherwise cold. She was looking straight at me holding a rifle in her hands as if it was a dead body. Even in the near darkness, I could see that her eyes were wide with the fear that hadn't left her expression since we had first met. Out of all of us, the older girl had had the most trouble accepting our new reality. Ever since Akamu and I had saved her at the apartment complex, she had stubbornly continued to act as if everything was normal.

"Who said anything about buying?"

Her eyebrows rose in shock, her eyes widening. "But that's…that's _stealing_…"

I selected a water bottle from the pile and nicked off the tag with my katana. "Not in this world. New world, new rules."

"Yeah, anyway," piped up Charlie more cheerfully than sanely believable, "I have a sneaky suspicion that the cashiers are going to be unavailable for a little while. Extended leave of absence, if you know what I mean."

"Probably taking sick leave."

"Well it sure as hell isn't vacation time."

The two of us snickered.

"Stop it!" Alicia cried. The gun fell from her hands and she clutched at her head as if to defend herself from our humor. Both of us stopped laughing immediately, watching her like she was a ticking time bomb about to explode. "_Stop it_, both of you! That's _sick_! Why are you…how…how can you be laughing at a time like this? Joking like that…how can you be so…so…"

Akamu stepped forward before either of us could say anything. He picked up the gun on the floor and gently pulled the girl's shaking hands away from her head.

"It is how they cope with such situations," he said in his low, calming voice. He placed the gun in her unwilling hands and rested a heavy hand on the top of her head. She blinked blearily up at the tall, bulky Maori with tears still pouring down her face, her expression contorted in sorrow and an emotional pain that I did not understand. "Calm yourself. Be strong. You want to see your mother again, yes?"

Gasping for breath between her tears, she nodded.

"Focus on that desire. Whatever happens, focus on your mother and making it to her safely. That is your reason to live. You said she was a brilliant woman?"

"Yes," sobbed Alicia, bowing her head, her entire body shuddering with her cries. She held the gun to her, hugging it for comfort and to keep from letting it fall again. "I miss her so much."

"You'll see her again," I said, a lot more confident than I felt. In my mind, I noted that it would be a sheer miracle if this girl ever made it out of the city alive with the mindset she was in. It was possible the Infection had already spread to her hometown. And mine. But something stopped me from voicing the concerns I knew we all felt. "We will make it out of this city alive."

"How do you _know_?" moaned Alicia, her lip trembling. "This is hopeless…_hopeless_…"

"We will make it because we must. We've lasted this long, haven't we?"

"Yeah, a whole day and a half, yippee," muttered Charlie. I shot a look at him, and he grimaced apologetically.

"That's longer than the majority of the city population," I said.

"Sad but true."

"Besides," I said, hefting up the heavy, dangerous weight in my hands. All eyes were drawn to it. "It's not like we're going to be exactly helpless."

"I'd say we have a fighting chance," interjected Charlie, and then he snickered again.

Akamu patted the girl's shoulder one last time, and when it seemed she had her tears mostly in check, we gathered what we could before cautiously making our way to the back storage room exit we had come in through, guided by Professor James, who knew the ins and outs of the store from picking up his girlfriend after she finished her shifts as a cashier.

We didn't ask about her past finding out that information. When she was mentioned, there was a deadened look in his eyes that told us all we needed to know. He had said only a handful of words since then. Well, he hadn't spoken much since we'd met him, actually.

I remembered that Charlie and I had joked about the store's cashiers moments before. It suddenly didn't seem quite as funny. But one stolen glance at the professor's face told me that my worries about his feelings were unnecessary. He was beyond feeling now.

Miraculously, the store remained deathly empty throughout our raiding, yet we could still hear distant screams and crashes from the world beyond the caged doors and insulated walls. Fainter and fewer than mere hours before, and growing less with every passing hour, a stark reminder of the downhill spiral that was the current state of the city. And it would only be getting worse as the days drew on.

At the heavy back door that would lead us outside, I raised a hand to indicate a halt and looked around at the tired, dirty, frightened group behind me. My group of survivors. My new friends.

"The creatures out there are no longer human," I instructed them in a low, steady voice. "Remember that. Do whatever it takes to survive. Whatever happens, whatever you see, whatever you think, do not hesitate to kill anything that threatens your ability to survive."

They all nodded, even Alicia, although her cheeks were still glistening with fresh tears.

"What is our goal?" asked Akamu.

"Our main goal is to get out of the city. But for right now? Let's settle for crossing the street."

Drawing out my katana, I eased open the heavy door and peered out into the nightmarish world beyond. A stretch of employee parking lot and a three-lane street sat between us and a long row of older looking buildings. And out in that open space, various figures shuffled and groaned in the dusk.

While trying to figure out the best way through them, a loud bang erupted into the air. Somewhere, a car alarm went off. I tensed. The ambling creatures changed their demeanors completely. With a collected, guttural yell, they sprinted off in a horde towards the sound. It was the perfect distraction. Quickly, I skimmed the line of buildings.

"Fire escape in an alleyway across the street. Get up on the roof. Keep together and keep silent. I think they're attracted by sound."

Without bothering to see if anyone was ready, I shouldered open the door and launched down the concrete steps. Once outside, the stretch of pavement seemed to gain several yards in length, but I headed on, my eyes locked on our destination. Behind me, heavy breathing and feet pounding the ground told me the rest were following suit. I had to remind myself to reign in my speed. This wasn't a track race at school. Getting separated from the rest of the pack would not win me any medals here.

We made it to the alleyway without anything seeing us. The creatures had apparently found the blaring car alarm too loud to resist. Which was fine with me. Just as long as my friends got to safety, anyway.

"Up and over," I spat. "Akamu, up front, make sure it's clear. Alicia, you next. Then Professor, then Charlie. I'm the smallest and the fastest, so I'll come up last."

Without wasting time agreeing or arguing, they sprung onto the iron structure one at a time. It took several excruciating, tense minutes. The professor was almost to the second landing, Charlie's hand on the first rung of the ladder, when movement ambled sickeningly across the street at the end of the alleyway.

Far above me, Alicia let loose a strangled gasp that was almost a scream. It was all it took. Instantly, the creature's head snapped to attention, its primal gaze focusing straight on me.

"Well _that's _not good," Charlie said.

"Up!" I hissed, shoving him in the back. He scrambled up the ladder, but it was already too late. I readied my katana, my heart pumping, lungs slowing and deepening in their breaths.

_They're not human. Not anymore._

Before the creature reached me, its bloody limbs flailing, stained teeth snapping out as it yelled, I lunged forward, slicing through an outstretched arm and across its chest. It fell back before charging at me again, oblivious to its pain.

_Survive!_

My head pounding with ruthless mirth, I thrust the katana with all my strength, carving the creature across the middle. Blood and gore poured out, the blade nicked something tougher than the rest, and like a puppet cuts from its strings, the body collapsed, extremities twitching madly.

_They're not human anymore._

For a beat, I stood there heaving breaths, staring as the creature gurgled and crimson red spurted and spilled from severed arteries and burst organs. I should be sick at the sight. But I wasn't.

"Eden, hurry!"

I snapped my gaze away from my kill and reached up to pull myself up the ladder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw more movement, more creatures charging down the alleyway, drawn by their dying comrade's last scream. Immediately, I turned to face them, abandoning all thought of following after my friends. A cold, relentless purpose filled me, blinding whatever sense of self-preservation existed.

More death. I wanted more. I needed it.

Above me came a sharp, deafening bang, and the nearest Infected fell over, half its head blown away. I stared at it, confused. Another bang, and another one creature fell.

"Eden, what the hell are you doing? Get up here!"

My body responded to my name. I launched myself onto the ladder, climbing as fast as my short limbs allowed. The katana was still awkwardly clutched in one hand but I had no time to secure it. My feet were inches away from grabbing, groping hands as I jumped up onto the upper landing and sprinted the stairs two at a time to where Charlie stood, trying to hold back the dozen or so creatures drawn by our noise. For a computer nerd, he was a pretty damn good shot.

"They're climbing up after us!"

I didn't need to be told. I had already seen it. With my back to Charlie facing down the stairs, I readied myself.

"Melee! Gunfire will just draw more!"

Huffing, the former computer-engineering student shouldered aside his weapon and reached for the crowbar strapped to his back. In front of me, the forefront Infected leapt up the stairs like a frantic doll, its glowing gaze locked on me. I gripped my sword, lunged, my heart in my throat. My ears throbbing with the the pounding thrill of my newfound insanity.

_They aren't human anymore._

Charlie shouted something. He came up behind me and adjusted his position so he wouldn't accidentally clobber me with each swing. Blood flew through the air, splattering all over me. But I didn't care. The furious will to survive was burning too strong, encompassing all other emotion. I sliced again and again, a mad laughter building in my throat that the horrified part of me barely had power to suppress.

No one had to tell me that I was losing my sanity. No one had to tell me I was crazy, sadistic even. I worried for just a beat that this darker side of myself was the fault of the virus or whatever it was driving the world to hell. But I knew that that dark side had always been there, waiting for the opportunity to come through. And it had. Magnificently.

I slashed again, each sound of metal slicing through flesh and responsive shriek feeding my aggression and my high. This was insanity at its finest. This was…

I jerked awake.

For several tense minutes, I stared straight ahead into a wall of dark green. My breath came heavy, heart pounding in my ears. My body shook, soaked in cold sweat.

A dream. Just a dream.

No. Not a dream. Even worse.

A memory.

The panic ebbed away upon realizing that it had happened weeks ago, and that I was for the moment tucked away in one of the safest places in the city. But I still felt shaken. Strange, that such a dream of a memory would come to me in my sleep like this. It had never happened before. I had rarely dreamed since the outbreak, too exhausted for my mind to do much except allow me to rest. Not even nightmares disturbed my sleep as often as one would expect. In fact, I couldn't even remember the last time I had had a nightmare.

The image of the dying Infected and my own cold blooded insanity continued to replay itself over and over, not as clear or as crisp a memory as before, but enough to settle a queasy sickness in my stomach. Yet killing Infected had not bothered my conscience or stomach since that very first time I had taken up my sword to kill…well, anyway, it had simply become a tiresome, adrenaline pumping day-to-day routine. But now the very thought of it made me uneasy.

My brooding gave me time to pull myself out of the after effects of the dream. I blinked a few times in the light, trying to orient myself. The Hunter laid next to me on his side, his much larger body curled up half around me, as if he wanted to be close for comfort but knew to keep his distance. The wall of dark green I had seen upon waking was his shirted chest. His head was bent near enough to mine that his steady breathing gently played with my hair.

I shifted a little away from him, looking up for his face. With a jolt, I found it several inches away from mine, his eyes closed behind the fringe of brown hair, his breath now blowing across my forehead. He looked peaceful. Human. Not at all like the monsters in my memories. Dazedly, I reached out a hand and brushed my fingertips against the gray-toned skin of his cheek. Directly below the scars. His facial muscles twitched, responding to my touch in his sleep.

Damn, he was actually kind of cute. _Really_ cute.

_What are you doing, Eden?_

I jerked my hand back and sat up. With renewed shaking, I rubbed my face as hard as I could.

_You're crushing on a zombie, that's what._

The idea unsettled me more so than my dream. But not as much as it would have a day or so ago. That fact disturbed me even more. Just my luck that this freak _also_ had a great face.

I couldn't be this close to him right then. Shucking off my sleeping bag rather more frantically than intended, I stumbled to the side room and the bathroom beyond. Once the light was on and the door shut, the mirror caught my eye and I stopped for a stunned minute, staring at the girl in the glass.

My long black hair was tangled and messy, but it at least looked clean as it fell down past my shoulders and framed my pale, thin face. The dark half circles under my eyes had faded slightly, but the hollow, cold look was still there in my gaze, a testament to the fact that I would never be the same person I had been before the outbreak. Even if I did survive. Even if I did somehow make it back to normal life.

I laughed hollowly to myself. A normal life? There was no such thing anymore.

I dropped my gaze and turned away from the mirror. I didn't look at it again.

When I was finished with my business and had drenched my face in ice-cold water from the cracked sink, I made my way back into the main room a little more calm and collected. I picked up the lighter I had found in my jacket pocket the day before and placed on one of the shelves for safe keeping. The hairspray can was long since gone, fallen out probably during the episode with the witch.

Talk about more bad memories.

The Hunter's gaze focused on me as I reentered the main room and took a seat next to the table. He was still in his sleeping position, apparently too comfortable to move, but he shifted his head enough to keep an eye on me as I looked around at the graffiti on the walls and played with the lighter.

It took a few tries, but eventually a flame flickered to life. Immediately, the silence was interrupted by a snarl. Goosebumps shot up my arms. I looked down. The Hunter struggled into a crouch, his lips curled back as he backed up into the corner under the table. His eyes were focused on the lighter.

"Sorry," I apologized quickly, shutting it off and shoving it away from me. The warning snarls stopped, his lips pulling down, but his pale eyes were narrowed. "I'm sorry. I forgot about what I did to you in the alleyway. I thought that you were going to kill me though, so..."

He snorted but eased back into a resting position on the sleeping bags. Feeling slightly embarrassed and kind of sheepish, I turned my attention to the pile of supplies. My stomach didn't need to growl to tell me I was hungry. I pulled out some promising cans of beef stew. A small tabletop camping stove sat on the other side of the table under some haphazardly stacked pots and pans, and I pulled it out and plugged it in, setting a large pot filled with the stew on the burner to cook. Again, I mentally commended whoever had built and supplied this safe house. Geniuses, the lot of them, even if it was ironically placed.

We—the other survivors and I—had used a similar cooking stove earlier on before we realized that it was simply slowing us down and we ditched it after using it to bash in a few Infected's faces as a parting shot. As a result, hot meals had been rare to come by. Plus these things took a little while to heat up. To appease my demanding stomach while I waited, I poked around at the leftover fish and black beans, then decided I needed something lighter and grabbed up a box of salt-free crackers.

The Hunter whined. When I looked at him, I found him staring at the package in my hands.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to let you starve."

Glancing around, I spotted another chair shoved near the exit door and retrieved it, setting it next to mine.

"But no more eating on the floor for you. If you want to eat, you're going to have to eat like I do, got it?"

He crept off his sleeping place and awkwardly sat himself in the chair, glancing at me as if trying to figure out how to do it by example. After a moment, he settled into a hunched position, his clawed hands up against the edge of the table in front of him for support. It must have been a while since he had sat on anything except the ground. Of course, maybe one of the other memories the virus had claimed involved sitting. Surely, his school memories couldn't be the only forgotten ones.

Sadness tightened my chest. A feeling I shoved away.

"Here," I said, plucking out a few crackers and holding them out.

Eyeing them, he attempted to take them from me with a clawed hand. But his grip was too strong, his fingers too awkward. The crackers fell from his grasp moments after I let go. He tried to grab them, but I saw the cringe of pain on his face at the movement, and they fell to shatter on the floor.

"Hey, cut it out," I said, stopping him from trying to claw at them on the ground, growling. I scooped up the crumbs and dumped them off to the side. He looked up at me, his expression contorted in frustration and anger with himself. I took a single cracker out and held it close to him over the table. "Just be careful. Take it easy. You have to get used to it, all right? That's all, so don't be frustrated. Now try again. Don't use so much strength this time."

He glared at the cracker for a moment, as if daring it to cause him trouble. Then he slowly reached up and closed his claws around it, carefully lifting it into his mouth.

"There, see? No problem."

I popped another one into my mouth and then took his wrist and placed the next one in his palm. He had less trouble with that.

"No problem," I said again, placing a few more crackers into his waiting hand.

He looked up at me. I thought I saw a ghost of a smile twitch at the corner of his lips. I looked away, checking on the camp stove. After a few minutes and several more crackers I poured out onto his hand without looking at him, I thought it safe to meet his gaze once again.

"Hey, about yesterday," I started, and then stopped, struggling with the words. He looked up at me from his food, his expression curious.

"Thanks," I mumbled at last, dropping my gaze on the pretense that I was pulling out more crackers. "Thanks for letting me do that. I really needed something to keep my mind occupied. You didn't have to…I mean, I know I would have been pretty embarrassed if it had been me, and I wasn't exactly the nicest, guilt-tripping you into it…"

A clawed hand reached out and nudged my knee, accompanied by a soft, rumbling growl. I looked up at him, smiling apologetically and tucking a stray strand of hair out of my face behind my ear. The pale eyes stared at me, then he turned to sniff at the bubbling stew.

"Almost done, I think." I stood to stir it, feeling strangely ridiculous and wanting to cover up the emotion. "This is cooking a lot faster than I thought it would…"

I retrieved two clean bowls and spoons from the shelves and half filled them each with stew, setting one down in front of the Hunter. My stomach aching, I scooped up as full a spoonful as possible and took a bite. It melted in my mouth, not because of the consistency or quality but because hot food had never tasted so good.

The Hunter whimpered. When he saw he'd caught my attention, he nudged the spoon I had given him and looked at me despondently.

I glanced down at his clawed hands. It was obvious to both of us without even trying that he would struggle for every spoonful with his large, awkward grip and such a small utensil, and there were no larger ones I had seen. So it was either he ate straight from the bowl, or…

Reluctantly, I set my own spoon down and picked up his, wondering why I had insisted he ate like I did. He whined, like he was sorry to put me off my food for his sake.

"It's fine," I told him, keeping all traces of exasperation out of my voice. "We'll figure something out later. You eat first for now. I can wait."

I dipped out a spoonful of his stew and held it up, trying not to think about the fact that I was hand-feeding an Infected, although thankfully not with my own body. His pale gaze looked at me, forcing me to avert my own when I saw how embarrassing this was for him and how badly he felt at the thought of eating before I did.

"It's fine," I said again, wondering why I kept telling him that when it obviously was not. Great, a zombie with a healthy sense of pride and consideration. "I don't mind. I told you to trust me to take care of you, didn't I? Now open up."

He continued to stare at me like being unable to feed himself was the worst thing he had ever done.

"Stop giving me that look." I drew the spoon up to his closed mouth. He pulled his head back, looking at the food like it was insulting him. "Hey! Cut it out. I'm not eating until you're fed, so just deal with it. Now open that mouth of yours before I pry it open and force feed you."

He paused to consider, his pale gaze sweeping over my determined expression and apparently deciding that I was not about to back down. Obediently, he opened his mouth wide and closed around the spoon. Despite his earlier reluctance, I could tell by his expression that it took everything he had to not dive in like an animal as he had with the tuna the day before. No doubt his eating habits as an Infected had been nothing short of horrendous.

I continued to feed him until his bowl was empty. It was an experience that would take a little while to get used to for the both of us. Then I went into the side room and wet a washcloth so I could wipe off his face and shirt where some of it had trickled down and spilled. Partly my fault, there. I was adept at many things, but spoon-feeding someone was not one of them. After that, he still seemed hungry, so I spread the package of crackers onto the table while I finished my own meal.

At last I sat back, my stomach content and my mind much more at ease. The memory that had awoken me had faded into obscurity, and I had my immature hormones and their horrendous timing under control. My mind felt tired again, but it was a warm, happy sort of sleepy that I had not felt since before school started. I turned my restful gaze on the Hunter. He looked up at me from where he was sniffing around at the table and studying the graffiti with interest. His expression asked me what I was planning on doing next. I certainly wished I knew.

"Well, I guess I gotta decide what I'm going to do after I've recovered a bit more. I can't stay here forever."

He tilted his head to the side, pale eyes unblinking. Then his gaze flickered to the wall and he raised a clawed hand, pointing at the message my friends had left so many days ago. I rose an eyebrow at the Hunter in mild surprise.

"So, you can read too, huh?" I smiled. "You know, sometimes I almost forget you aren't human."

He cast his gaze away, and I thought I saw his expression twist into misery. I shot straight up. I could have slapped myself at the tactless, offhanded comment. The calm, relaxed atmosphere of the room plunged, my body burning in embarrassment. What a thing to say to his face like that. Of course he was still human! He was just…sick.

But then technically, so were all the other Infected.

_Don't think like that, Eden. Don't you dare. That's the first step down to hell. Go ahead and see _him_ as human, but if you start picturing the rest like that, you'll end up ripped apart before you can even scream. _

_The rest aren't human. Not anymore._

But then, what really made a person human anyway?

_Don't you think like that. Don't you _dare_._

I reached out hesitantly and brushed his hand with the tips of my fingers. "I'm sorry, I just meant…you're not at all like the Infected I've been dealing with for the past couple of weeks. It's just strange to see you so different from them when you're obviously…I'm so sorry. You're still human. Of course you are. I just…"

He opened his mouth, and my words faltered. For a fleeting second I fooled myself into believing that he was about to speak. Then he shook his head, nose wrinkled in self-disgust, and turned away. His clawed hands gripped at the fabric on his knees, ripping into it, but I couldn't find the voice to tell him to stop ruining his clothes. I was too engrossed by his obvious attempts to talk, to prove to me that he _was_ human.

He opened his mouth again. This time a choking, harsh sound came out. He immediately cut it off. It seemed to annoy him even more, he snapped his teeth at thin air before trying again, much to the same result and reaction.

Pity tightened my chest so hard it physically hurt. I was more sorry than I had ever felt for anyone in my life. It was an emotion that overwhelmed my guilt. Somehow he understood my words, and yet he was unable to use them to answer back due to some mental or physical problem that the virus had caused in his body or brain or both. But apparently, the damage was not as severe as the other Infected. He wasn't quite one of them, but he wasn't quite a non-Infected either. It was frustrating him. Beyond frustrating. Maybe in his own way, he was also being driven mad.

I thought _my_ situation was terrible? I was merely trapped in a room. He was trapped in his own body.

That was the reason, I thought with a jolt. That was the reason he was keeping me alive. Or at least one of the reasons. He knew that he was different. He knew that he was some sort of…freak. Not entirely Infected, but not quite normal either. He wanted—needed—someone to understand, someone to help him make sense of the hell he was going through.

It was the reason he played with me instead of killing me. He had done it in order to see if I would play back, because he thought I _had_ played back when I defended myself against his first attack. Somehow, it had made him think that I would perhaps stand to be around him long enough to find out the truth. Perhaps he had sensed my own insanity in my hopeless, furious defense and words.

It was the reason he had come to comfort me when I had broken. He no doubt felt the same. He was lonely and scared and losing his grip on sanity, trying any way possible to retain what little he had left.

Like me.

A strangled gasp brought me back to reality. I forced myself to watch him in his mental agony, at a loss as to what to do or say. He seemed on the brink of tears. His attempts to make some sort of discernible word were getting more and more enraged with each failed try.

Suddenly, his arm flung out, backhanding the empty bowl in front of him and sending it crashing into the wall. He jumped to his feet, upsetting his chair, apparently intent on causing more destruction to relieve his anger, and I lunged forward to grab his wrist, gripping it as tight as my shaking fingers allowed.

"Stop."

The single word and my touch froze him like ice. He stared down at me, pale eyes wide and wild, his expression a mask of raw grief and self-loathing. His eerie gaze searched mine, his shoulders heaving with each heavy breath.

I rested a hand shaking as much as he was on his neck. A shudder ran through his body, and he whined, but it was a different sound than before. More high-pitched. Uncontrolled. His gaze wavered for the first time.

"Calm down. It's all right. It's okay. Everything will be fine."

His face contorted into a deeper level of emotion, so fierce and feral that it was inhuman.

I swallowed. "I understand."

He collapsed to his knees. His large arms wrapped around me as he fell, and as his powerful limbs locked around, I fought with the urge to fight him back, my old cold anger attempting to reemerge before being beaten back down. Even standing, I was short enough that his head rested on my shoulder. His body heaved with untamed sobs. I was shocked by the sound. Stunned. My arms hung out to the side, unsure what I was supposed to do, to say. How do you comfort someone who has lost everything? What do you say to a man with no hope?

My god, he was human. And damned be anyone who ever said differently ever again. Including myself.

Instinct kicked in. I slipped my arms around the back of his neck and held him. In response, his grip on me tightened, and his claws digging through my shirt and bandages to nick my skin like needles. I gritted my teeth.

"I'm here," I breathed. It was all I could think to say.

He vented into my shoulder for what felt like an hour. At one point, I sat down, my legs were so tired, but he didn't seem to notice. I leaned against him for support, resting my head against the top of his and waited for him to finish. My fingers wove through his hair, stroking the back of his head. I had no idea what else to do. Comforting people had always been Akamu's specialty, and before the outbreak, the need had never arisen for me to even try.

But of course, Akamu wasn't here. He was days away. Maybe even out of the city by now…

_The last place you knew they went for sure was the next safe house._

Perhaps they had left me another message there. The thought sparked a flame within me that could not be stifled. There was my goal. There was my reason to survive. Of course they would leave me a message. And I wanted to read it. I wanted to see the only sure sign of other survivors that I knew to find. I would follow their tracks until I could do so no more.

What else was I going to do?

The Hunter's sobs lessened, his energy at last spent. Soon, he was simply breathing heavily into my shoulder, unwilling to move. I could sense somehow that he was still conscious. Obviously, he was a bit stronger than I had been the night before. I rubbed the back of his neck, and his grip loosened slightly.

"You're right," I said, my voice cracking. His head turned towards me to show that he was listening. I cleared my throat before speaking again. "I should go after my friends."

He drew away enough to look up at me sideways, his pale eyes red and puffy from his tears but no longer crazed with grief. Now they were just curious in an exhausted sort of way.

"Want to come with me?"

He continued to look at me for several seconds, his gaze searching mine. Then he heaved a heavy sigh as if his answer should be obvious and tucked his head up against my neck. The position felt fairly awkward for me. Affectionate physical contact was not necessarily on my list of favorites. I wanted to pull away, but stopped myself.

_Remember what _you_ felt like when _you_ broke down. He just wants to be held. _

I patted the back of his head, staring straight ahead into a future I could not imagine. "All right. Then it's about time we got out of here."


	7. The Reason

**Chapter Six**

The Reason

"They have an AK-47 here? How does that even make sense?"

Charlie glanced over at me from where he was examining a hunter rifle. He had just relieved it rather violently from its glass case a few moments earlier. "Our city is being destroyed by the zombie apocalypse, and you're wondering about the stock inventory of an outdoor sporting goods store?"

I lifted the AK-47 to my shoulder, peering through the high tech laser scope as I aimed it at a fake bison head hanging over more hunting equipment. The gun was a bit too big for someone of my small frame, but I decided that it would do, even if it would be hell to carry around. Besides, I needed to work up my strength, and I preferred to depend more on my katana for actual destruction anyway. This weapon would just be a last resort.

"Eden, we found some flashlights and backpacks."

Lowering the weapon, I watched as Akamu and Professor James approached us through the shadows, their arms bulging with various supplies that they dumped onto the floor rather unceremoniously. The large athlete looked up at me solemnly.

"We also picked up some other supplies we thought we might need."

"Good job," I said appreciatively, crouching down by the pile and selecting one of the slim, lightweight backpacks for myself. "Grab yourselves some guns and all the ammo you can carry without getting weighed down. We need to get going before something realizes that we're here."

"I don't have any money, how are we going to pay for this?"

I turned to look at Alicia, smiling slightly, but my expression was otherwise cold. She was looking straight at me, holding a rifle in her hands as if it was a dead body. Even in the near darkness, I could see that her eyes were wide with the fear that had not left her expression since we had first met. Out of all of us, the slightly older girl had had the most trouble accepting our new reality. Ever since Akamu and I had saved her at the apartment complex, she had stubbornly continued to act as if everything was still normal.

"Who said anything about buying?"

She looked shocked. "But that's…that's _stealing_…"

I selected a water bottle from the pile and nicked off the tag with my katana edge. "Not in this world. New world, new rules."

"Yeah, anyway," piped up Charlie more cheerfully than sanely believable, "I have a sneaky suspicion that the cashiers are going to be unavailable for a little while. Extended leave of absence, if you know what I mean."

"Probably taking sick leave."

"Well it sure as hell isn't vacation time."

The two of us snickered.

"Stop it!" cried out Alicia sobbingly. The gun fell from her hands and she clutched at her head as if to defend herself from our humor. Both of us stopped laughing immediately, our gazes watching her warily like a ticking time bomb. "_Stop it_, both of you! That's _sick_! Why are you…how…how can you be laughing at a time like this? Joking like that…how can you be so…so…"

Akamu stepped forward before either of us could say anything. He picked up the gun on the floor and gently pulled the girl's shaking hands away from her head.

"It is how they cope with such situations," he said in his low, calming voice. He placed the gun in her unwilling hands and rested a heavy hand on the top of her head comfortingly. She looked blearily up at the tall, bulky Maori with tears still pouring down her face, her expression contorted in sorrow and an emotional pain that I did not understand. "Calm yourself. Be strong. You want to see your mother again, yes?"

Gasping for breath between her tears, she nodded.

"Focus on that desire. Whatever happens, focus on your mother and making it to her safely. That is your reason to live. You said she was a brilliant woman?"

"Yes," sobbed Alicia, bowing her head, her entire body shuddering with her cries. She held the gun to her closely, hugging it for comfort and to keep from letting it fall again. "I miss her so much."

"You'll see her again," I said swiftly, a lot more confident than I felt. In my mind, I noted that it would be a sheer miracle if this girl ever made it out of the city alive with the mindset she was in. I also considered the possibility that the Infection had already spread to her hometown. And my hometown. But something stopped me from voicing the concerns I knew we all felt. "We will make it out of this city alive."

"How do you _know_?" moaned Alicia, her lip trembling. "This is hopeless…_hopeless_…"

"We will make it because we must. We've lasted this long, haven't we?"

"Yeah, a whole day and a half, yippee," muttered Charlie. I looked at him pointedly and he grimaced apologetically.

"That's longer than the majority of the city population."

"Sad but true."

"Besides," I said, hefting up the heavy, dangerous weight in my hands. All eyes were drawn to it. "It's not like we're going to be exactly helpless."

"I'd say we have a fighting chance," interjected Charlie, and then he snickered again.

Akamu patted the girl reassuringly one last time, and once it seemed she had her tears mostly in check, we spent several more vital minutes gathering up what we could before we cautiously made our way to the back storage room exit we had come in through, guided by Professor James, who knew the ins and outs of the store from picking up his girlfriend after she finished her work shifts as one of the cashiers. We didn't ask about her past finding out that information. There was a deadened look in his eyes that told us all we knew when she was mentioned. He had said only a handful of words since then. Well, he hadn't spoken much since we had met him, actually.

I remembered that Charlie and I had just joked about the store's cashiers just moments before. It suddenly didn't seem quite as funny. But one stolen glance at the professor's face told me that my worries about his feelings were unnecessary. He was beyond feeling now.

Miraculously, the store had remained deathly empty throughout our raiding, yet we could still hear distant screams and crashes from the outside world beyond the caged doors and insulated walls. Fainter and fewer than mere hours before, and growing less with every passing hour, a stark reminder of the downhill spiral that was the current state of the city. And it would only be getting worse as the days drew on.

At the heavy back door that would lead us to the outside, I raised a hand to indicate a halt, looking around at the tired, dirty, frightened group behind me. My group of survivors. My new friends.

"The creatures out there are no longer human," I instructed them in a low, steady voice. "Remember that. Do whatever it takes to survive. Whatever happens, whatever you see, whatever you think, do not hesitate to kill anything that threatens your ability to survive."

They all nodded, even Alicia, although her cheeks were still glistening with fresh tears.

"What is our goal?" asked Akamu quietly.

"Our main goal is to get out of the city. But for right now? Let's settle for crossing the street."

Drawing out my katana, I eased open the heavy door, peering out into the nightmarish world beyond. There was a large stretch of employee parking lot and a three-lane street beyond that before a long row of older looking buildings. In between, I saw various figures shuffling in the dim light of dusk. While trying to figure out the best way through them, here was a loud bang and a car alarm went off somewhere. I watched as the ambling creatures changed their demeanors completely as with a collected, guttural yell, they moved off in a horde towards the sound. It was the perfect distraction. Quickly, my eyes skimmed the line of buildings, focusing on the only reasonable spot.

"Fire escape in an alleyway across the street. Get up on the roof. Keep together and keep silent. I think they're attracted by sound."

Without bothering to see if anyone was ready, I shouldered open the door and launched myself down the few concrete steps. Once outside, the long stretch of pavement seemed to gain several yards in length, but I headed grimly on, my eyes locked on our destination. Behind me, I heard heavy breathing and feet pounding ground as our group advanced across the open area. I had to remind myself to reign in my speed. This wasn't a track race at school. Getting separated from the rest of the pack would not win me any medals here.

We made it to the alleyway without anything seeing us. The creatures had apparently found the blaring car alarm too loud to resist. Which was just fine with me. Just as long as my friends got to safety, anyway.

"Up and over," I spat tersely. "Akamu, up front, make sure it's clear. Alicia, you next. Then Professor, then Charlie. I'm the smallest and the fastest so I'll come up last."

Without wasting time agreeing or arguing, the group hastily launched themselves onto the iron structure. It took several excruciating, tense minutes. The professor was almost to the second landing, Charlie's hand on the first rung of the ascending ladder, when I saw movement ambling sickeningly across the street at the end of the alleyway.

Far above me, Alicia gave a strangled gasp that was almost a scream. It was all it took. Instantly, the creature's head snapped to attention, its primal gaze focusing straight on me.

"Well _that's _not good," Charlie said.

"Up!" I hissed, shoving him hard. He scrambled up the ladder, but it was already too late. I readied my katana, my heart pumping, lungs slowing and deepening in their breaths.

_They're not human. Not anymore._

Before the creature could reach me, its bloody limbs flailing, stained teeth snapping out as it yelled, I lunged forward, slicing through an outstretched arm and across its chest. It fell back for just a moment before charging at me again, oblivious to its pain.

_Survive!_

My head pounding with ruthless mirth, I thrust the katana with all my strength, carving the creature across the middle. Blood and gore poured out, the blade nicked something tougher than the rest, and like a puppet cuts from its strings, the body collapsed, extremities twitching madly.

_They're not human anymore._

For a beat, I stood there breathing heavily, staring as the creature gurgled and crimson red spurted and spilled from severed arteries and burst organs. I thought I should be sick at the sight. But I wasn't.

"Eden, hurry!"

I snapped my gaze away from my kill and reached up to pull myself up the ladder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw more movement, more creatures charging down the alleyway, drawn by their dying comrade's last scream. Immediately, I turned to face them, abandoning all thought of following after my friends. I was filled with a cold, relentless purpose that blinded whatever sense of self-preservation existed.

More death. I wanted more. I needed it.

There was a sharp, deafening bang and the nearest Infected fell over, half its head blown away. I stared at it, confused. Another one directly behind it fell shortly.

"Eden what the hell are you doing, get up here!"

My body responded to my name while my brain did not. I launched myself up onto the ladder, climbing as fast as my short limbs could allow. The katana was still awkwardly clutched in one hand but I had no time to secure it away. My feet were inches away from grabbing, groping hands as I jumped up onto the upper landing and sprinted the stairs two at a time to where Charlie stood, trying to hold back the dozen or so creatures drawn by our noise on their way to investigate still sounding car alarm. For a computer nerd, he was a pretty damn good shot.

"They're climbing up after us!"

I didn't need to be told. I had already seen it. With my back to Charlie facing down the stairs I had come, I readied myself.

"Melee! Gunfire will just draw more!"

Huffing heavily, I heard the former computer-engineering student shoulder aside his weapon and reach for the crowbar strapped to his back. In front of me, the forefront Infected launched itself up the stairs like a frantic doll, its glowing eyes locked on me as I gripped my sword, lunged, my heart in my throat as I felt the pounding thrill of my newfound insanity.

_They aren't human anymore._

Charlie shouted something, coming up behind me and trying to adjust his position before attacking so he wouldn't accidentally clobber me as he swung. Blood was flying now. It was splattering all over me. But I didn't care. The furious will to survive was burning too strong, encompassing all other emotion. I sliced again and again, feeling a mad laughter build in my throat that the horrified part of me barely had enough power to suppress. No one had to tell me that I was losing my sanity. No one had to tell me I was probably crazy, sadistic even. I worried for just a beat that this darker side of myself was the fault of the virus or whatever it was driving the world to hell. But I knew that that dark side had always been there, waiting for the opportunity to come through. And it had. Magnificently.

I slashed again, each sound of metal slicing through flesh and responsive shriek feeding my aggression and my high. This was insanity at its finest. This was…

I was very suddenly awake.

For several tense minutes, all I could do was stare straight ahead into a wall of dark green, breathing heavily, my body soaked in cold sweat. I was shaking.

A dream. It was just a dream.

No. Not a dream. Even worse. A memory.

I felt myself calm immediately upon realizing that it had happened weeks ago, and that I was for the moment tucked away in one of the safest places in the city, but I still felt shaken. Strange, that such a dream of a memory would come to me in my sleep like this. It had never happened before. I had rarely dreamed since the outbreak began, too exhausted for my mind to do much except allow me to rest. Not even nightmares disturbed my sleep as often as one would expect. In fact, I couldn't even remember the last time I had had a nightmare.

It was disturbing. The image of the dying Infected and my own cold blooded insanity continued to replay itself over and over, not as clear or as crisp a memory as before, but enough to make me feel slightly sick, even ashamed. That felt strange as well. Killing the Infected had not bothered my conscience or stomach since that very first time I had taken up my sword to kill my…well, anyway, it had simply become a tiresome, adrenaline pumping day-to-day routine. But now the very thought of it made me uneasy.

My brooding gave me time to pull myself completely out of the after effects of the dream. I blinked a few times in the light of the safe room, trying to orient myself. The hunter was lying next to me on his side, his much larger body curled up half around me mere inches away, as if he wanted to be close for comfort but knew to keep his distance. The wall of dark green I had seen upon waking was his shirted chest. His head was bent near enough to my head that I could feel his steady breathing gently play with my hair.

I shifted a little away from him, looking up for his face. With a jolt, I found it several inches away from mine, his eyes closed behind the fringe of brown hair, his breath now blowing across my forehead. He looked peaceful. Human. Not at all like the monsters in my memories. Dazedly, I reached out a hand and gently brushed my fingers against the gray toned skin of his cheek directly below the scars. His facial muscles twitched slightly, responding to my touch in his sleep.

Damn, he was actually kind of cute. _Really_ cute.

_What are you doing, Eden?_

I jerked my hand back, sitting up very suddenly. With renewed shaking, I rubbed my face as hard as I could.

_You're crushing on a zombie, that's what._

The idea unsettled me more so than my dream. But not as much as it would have a day or so ago. That fact disturbed me even more. Just my luck that this freak _also_ had a great face. I suddenly found that I couldn't be this close to him right then. Shucking off my sleeping bag rather more frantically than intended, I grabbed a hold of the table edge above the sleeping Infected and pulled myself up, stumbling to the side room and the bathroom beyond. Once the light was on and the door shut, the mirror caught my eye and I stopped for a stunned minute, staring at the girl in the glass.

My long black hair was tangled and messy, but it at least looked clean as it fell down past my shoulders and framed my pale, thin face. The dark half circles under my eyes had faded slightly from all the sleep I had been getting, but the hollow, cold look was still there in my gaze, a testament to the fact that I knew I would never be the same person I had been before the outbreak. Even if I did survive. Even if I did somehow make it back to normal life. I laughed hollowly to myself. A normal life? There was no such thing for me anymore.

I dropped my eyes and turned away from the mirror. I didn't look at it again.

When I was finished with my business and had drenched my face in ice-cold water from the cracked sink, I made my way back into the main room a little more calm and collected, absently picking up the lighter I had found in my jacket pocket the day before and placed on one of the shelves for safe keeping. The hairspray can was long since gone, fallen out probably during the episode with the witch.

Talk about more bad memories.

I felt the hunter's eyes focus immediately on me as I reentered the main room and took a seat in the chair next to the table. He was still in his sleeping position, apparently too comfortable to move quite yet, but he shifted his head enough to keep an eye on me as I looked around at the graffiti on the walls and absently started playing with the lighter.

It took a few tries, but eventually a flame flickered to life. Immediately, I heard a snarl and looked down to see the hunter struggling into a crouch, his lips curled back as he backed up into the corner under the table. His eyes were focused on the lighter.

"Sorry," I apologized hastily, immediately shutting it off and shoving it away from me on the table. He relaxed a bit, but his expression was still wary. "I'm sorry. I forgot about what I did to you in the alleyway. I thought that you were going to kill me though so..."

He snorted somewhat condescendingly, but he eased back into a resting position on the sleeping bags. Feeling slightly embarrassed and kind of sheepish, I turned my attention to the pile of supplies, suddenly realizing how hungry I was. I pulled out some promising cans of beef stew. There was a small tabletop camping stove sitting on the other side of the table under some haphazardly stacked pots and pans, and I pulled it out and plugged it in, setting a large pot I filled with the stew on the burner to cook. Again, I mentally commended whoever had built and supplied this safe house. Geniuses, the lot of them, even if it was ironically placed.

We—the other survivors and I—had used a similar cooking stove earlier on in the outbreak, before we realized that it was simply slowing us down and we ditched it after using it to bash in a few Infected's faces as a parting shot. As a result, hot meals had been rare to come by. I had learned that these things took a little while to heat up. So to appease my demanding stomach while I waited, I poked around at the leftover fish and black beans, then decided I needed something lighter and grabbed up a box of salt free crackers.

The hunter whined plaintively. I looked at him and found him staring at the package in my hands.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to let you starve."

Glancing around, I spotted another chair shoved near the exit door and I retrieved it, setting it next to mine.

"But no more eating on the floor for you. If you want to eat, you're going to have to eat like I do, got it?"

He crept off his sleeping place and awkwardly sat himself in the chair, glancing at me furtively as if trying to figure out how to do it by example. After a moment, he settled into a hunched over position, his clawed hands up against the edge of the table in front of him for support. It must have been a while since he had sat on anything except the ground. Of course, maybe one of the other memories the virus had claimed involved sitting. Surely, his school memories couldn't be the only forgotten ones.

I suddenly felt very sad, a feeling I shoved away callously.

"Here," I said, plucking out a few crackers and holding them out to him once he had settled.

Eyeing them warily, he reached out a clawed hand and attempted to take them from me. But his grip was too strong, his fingers too awkward. The crackers fell from his grasp moments after I let go. He tried to grab them, but I saw the cringe of pain on his face at the movement and they fell to shatter on the floor.

"Hey, cut it out," I said firmly but sympathetically, stopping him from trying to claw at them on the ground, growling aggressively. I scooped up the crumbs the best I could and dumped them off to the side on the table. He looked up at me, his expression contorted in frustration and anger with himself. I took a single cracker out and held it close to him over the table in case it fell again. "Just be careful. Take it easy. You have to get used to it, all right? That's all, so don't be frustrated. Now try again. Don't use so much strength this time."

He glared at the cracker for a moment, as if daring it to cause him trouble. Then he slowly, carefully reached up and closed his claws around it, gently lifting it from my hand and into his mouth.

"There, see? No problem."

I popped another one into my mouth and then took his wrist and placed the next one in his palm. He had less trouble with that.

"No problem," I said again, placing a few more crackers into his waiting hand.

He looked up at me and I thought I saw a ghost of a smile twitch at the corner of his lips. I looked away, checking on the camp stove. After a few minutes and several more crackers I poured out onto his hand without looking at him, I thought it safe to meet his gaze once again.

"Hey, about yesterday," I started, and then stopped uncertainly, struggling with the words. He looked up at me from his food, his expression curious.

"Thanks," I mumbled at last, dropping my gaze in the pretense that I was pulling out more crackers. "Thanks for letting me do that. I really needed something to keep my mind occupied. You didn't have to…I mean, I know I would have been pretty embarrassed if it had been me, and I wasn't exactly the nicest, guilt-tripping you into it…"

A clawed hand reached out and gently nudged my knee, accompanied by a soft, rumbling growl. I looked up at him, smiling apologetically and tucking a stray strand of hair out of my face behind my ear. The pale eyes stared at me unwaveringly for several moments, then he turned to sniff at the now bubbling stew.

"Almost done, I think," I said, standing up to stir it, suddenly feeling ridiculous and wanting to cover up the emotion. "This is cooking a lot faster than I thought it would…"

I retrieved two clean bowls and spoons from the shelves and half filled them each with stew, setting one down in front of the hunter. My stomach aching, I scooped up as full a spoonful as possible and took a bite. It seemed to melt in my mouth, not because of the consistency or quality but because hot food had never tasted so good.

The hunter whimpered in a mixture of frustration and hunger. I looked over at him as he nudged the spoon I had given him with a claw and then looked at me despondently. It was obvious to both of us without even trying that he would be struggling for every spoonful with his large, awkward grip and such a small utensil, and there were no larger ones I had seen. So it was either he ate straight from the bowl, or…

Feeling somewhat reluctant, I set my own spoon down and picked his up, wondering why I had insisted he ate like I did. He whined at me regretfully, like he was sorry to put me off my food for his sake.

"It's fine," I told him reassuringly, keeping all traces of the small flare of exasperation out of my voice. "We'll figure something out later. You eat first for now, I can wait."

Carefully, I dipped out a spoonful of his stew and held it up to him, trying not to think about the fact that I was hand feeding an Infected, although thankfully not with my own body. His pale eyes looked at me again, forcing me to avert my gaze when I saw how embarrassing this was for him and how badly he felt at the thought of eating before I did.

"It's fine," I said again, wondering why I kept telling him that when it obviously was not. Great, a zombie with a healthy sense of pride and gentlemanly qualities. "I don't mind. I told you to trust me to take care of you, didn't I? Now open up."

He continued to stare at me mournfully.

"Stop giving me that look," I muttered stubbornly, drawing the spoon up to his closed mouth. He pulled his head back immediately, looking at the food like it was insulting him. "Hey! Cut it out. I'm not eating until you're fed, so just deal with it. Now open that mouth of yours before I pry it open and force feed you."

He paused to consider, his pale eyes sweeping over my determined expression and apparently deciding that I was not about to back down. Obediently, he opened his mouth wide and closed around the spoon, careful not to mess up. Despite his earlier reluctance, I could tell by his expression that it took everything he had to not simply dive in like an animal as he had with the tuna the day before. I had no doubt that his eating habits on the street during his time as an Infected had been nothing short of horrendous.

I continued to feed him steadily until his bowl was empty, knowing it was an experience that would take a little while to get used to for the both of us. Then I went into the side room and wet a washcloth so I could wipe off his face and his shirt where some of it had trickled down and spilled. Partly my fault, there. I was adept at many things, but spoon-feeding someone was not one of them. After that, he still seemed hungry, so I spread the rest of the package of crackers onto the table in front of him while I finished my own meal.

At last I sat back, my stomach content and my mind much more at ease. The memory that had awoken me had faded into obscurity and I felt like I had my immature hormones and their horrendous timing now successfully under control. My mind felt tired again, but it was a warm, happy sort of sleepy that I had not felt since before school started. I turned my restful gaze on the hunter. He looked up at me curiously from where he was sniffing around at the table and studying the graffiti with interest. His expression asked me what I was planning on doing next. I certainly wished I knew. My friends were too far away to matter by now, and there was a slight problem with my being weaponless.

"Well, I guess now I gotta decide what I'm going to do after I'm done healing. I can't stay here forever."

He tilted his head to the side, pale eyes unblinking as always. Then his gaze flickered to the wall and he raised a clawed hand, pointing at the message my friends had left so many days ago. I looked at the hunter in mild surprise.

"So, you can read too, huh?" I smiled. "You know, sometimes I almost forget you aren't human."

He cast his gaze away suddenly, and I thought I saw his expression twist miserably. I sat up abruptly and felt like slapping myself at my tactless, offhanded comment. The calm, relaxed atmosphere of the room suddenly plunged as I felt my body burn in embarrassment and self disgust. What a thing to say to his face like that. Of course he was still human! He was just…sick.

But then technically, so were all the other Infected.

_Don't think like that, Eden. Don't you dare. That's the first step down to hell. Go ahead and see _him_ as human, but if you start picturing the rest like that, you'll end up ripped apart before you can even scream. _

_They rest aren't human. Not anymore._

But then, what really made a person human anyway?

_Don't you think like that. Don't you _dare_._

I reached out hesitantly and brushed his hand with the tips of my fingers. "I'm sorry, I just meant…you're not at all like the Infected I've been dealing with for the past couple of weeks. It's just strange to see you so different from them when you're obviously…I'm so sorry. You're still human. Of course you are. I just…"

My words faltered as he opened his mouth, and for a fleeting second I fooled myself into believing that he was about to speak. Then he shook his head disgustedly and turned away, grinding his teeth. His clawed hands gripped at the fabric on his knees, ripping into it slightly, but I couldn't find the voice to tell him to stop ruining his clothes, too engrossed by his obvious attempts to talk, to prove to me that he _was_ human. He opened his mouth again and let out a choking, harsh sound that he immediately cut off. It seemed to annoy him even more and he snapped his teeth at thin air before trying again, much to the same result and reaction.

I felt sorry for him. More sorry than I had ever felt for anyone in my life. It was an emotion that overwhelmed my guilt. Somehow he understood my words, and yet he was unable to use them to answer back due to some mental or physical problem that the virus had caused in his body or brain or both. But apparently, the damage was not as severe as the other Infected. He wasn't quite one of them, but he wasn't quite a non-infected either. I knew that it was frustrating him. Beyond frustrating. Maybe in his own way, he was also being driven mad.

There was an aching in my chest that I had rarely experienced before for anyone, let alone an Infected. I thought _my_ situation was terrible? I was merely trapped in a room. He was trapped in his own body.

That was the reason, I thought with a jolt. That was the reason he was keeping me alive. Or at least one of the reasons. He knew that he was different. He knew that he was some sort of freak just as I had said. Not entirely Infected but not quite normal either. He wanted—needed—someone to understand, someone to help him make sense of the hell he was going through.

It was the reason he played with me instead of killing me. He had done it in order to see if I would play back, because he thought I _had_ played back when I defended myself against his first attack. Somehow, it had made him think that I would perhaps stand to be around him long enough to find out the truth. Perhaps he had sensed my own insanity in my hopeless, furious defense and words.

It was the reason he had come to comfort me when I had finally broken. He no doubt felt the same way. He had known what I had been feeling, like my mind and soul were being ripped apart. He was lonely and scared and losing his grip on sanity, trying any way possible to retain what little he had left.

Like me.

A strangled gasp brought me back to reality. I forced myself to watch him in his mental agony at a loss as to what to do or say. He seemed almost to the brink of tears now. His attempts to make some sort of discernible word were getting more and more enraged with each failed try. Suddenly, his arm flung out, backhanding the empty bowl in front of him and sending it crashing into the wall. He jumped to his feet, upsetting his chair furiously, apparently intent on causing more destruction to relieve his anger, and I lunged forward to grab his wrist, gripping it as tight as my shaking fingers allowed.

"Stop."

The single word and my touch froze him like ice. He stared down at me as I stood next to him, his pale eyes wide and wild, his expression a mask of raw grief and self-loathing as he searched my gaze, shoulders heaving with each heavy breath. The haunting eyes pierced me like a knife, straight into the soul, but I couldn't look away.

I reached up with my free hand, shaking nearly as much as he was, and gently rested it on his neck. A shudder ran through his body and he whined hysterically, mournfully, his gaze wavering for the first time.

"Calm down. It's all right. It's okay. Everything will be fine."

His face contorted into a deeper level of emotion, so fierce and feral that it was inhuman.

"I understand."

He collapsed to his knees. His large arms wrapped around me as he fell, and as his powerful limbs locked around, I fought with the urge to fight him back and push him away, my old cold anger attempting to reemerge before being beaten back down. Even standing, I was short enough that his head was able to easily rest on my shoulder as his body heaved with untamed sobs. I was shocked by the sound. Stunned. My arms hung out awkwardly to the side, unsure what I was supposed to do, to say. How do you comfort someone who has lost _everything_? What do you say to a man with no hope?

My god, he was human. And damned be anyone who ever said differently ever again. Including myself.

Instinct kicked in at last. I slipped my arms around the back of his neck and held him. In response, his grip on me tightened almost painfully and I felt the pricks of his claws dig through my shirt and bandages and nick my skin like needles. I gritted my teeth and ignored the sensation.

"I'm here," I breathed. It was all I could think to say.

He vented into my shoulder for nearly an hour. At one point, I had to sit down, my legs were so tired, but he didn't seem to notice. I leaned against him for support, resting my head against the top of his as I waited for him to finish. My fingers wove through his hair, stroking the back of his head comfortingly. I had no idea what else to do. Comforting people had always been Akamu's specialty, and before the outbreak, the need had never arisen for me to even try.

But of course, Akamu wasn't here. He was days away. Maybe even out of the city by now…

_The last place you knew they went for sure was the next safe house._

Perhaps they had left me another message there. The thought sparked a flame within me that could not be stifled. There was my goal. There was my reason to survive. I wanted to read it. I wanted to see the only sure sign of other survivors that I knew to find. I would follow their tracks until I could do so no more, despite the fact that I knew in the pit of my stomach they were long gone from my reach.

But what else was I going to do?

I could feel the hunter's sobs lessen, his energy at last spent. Soon, he was simply breathing heavily into my shoulder, unwilling to move. I could sense somehow that he was still conscious. Obviously, he was a bit stronger than I was. I rubbed the back of his neck and his grip loosened slightly.

"You're right," I said softly, my voice cracking. His head turned towards me a little bit to show that he was listening. I cleared my throat before trying to speak again. "I should go after my friends."

I looked down at him as he drew away enough to look up at me sideways, his pale eyes red and puffy from his tears but no longer crazed with grief. Now they were just curious in an exhausted sort of way.

"Want to come with me?"

He continued to look at me for several seconds, his eyes searching mine. Then he heaved a heavy sigh as if his answer should be obvious, tucking his head up against my neck and growling his response. The position felt fairly awkward for me. Affectionate physical contact was not necessarily on my list of favorites. I wanted to pull away, but stopped myself.

_Remember what _you_ felt like when _you_ broke down. He just wants to be held. _

I patted the back of his head, staring straight ahead determinedly into a future I could not imagine. "All right. Then it's about time we got out of here."

* * *

**Author's Babble:** I wish Akamu got more screen time. He's my favorite character. He's the type of person I would want to be in a zombie survival group. Unfortunately, I am much more like Charlie—naturally great with a gun when I'm not moving too much and a smart mouth that won't shut up.

Also, anyone else notice Eden has a very limited vocabulary when it comes to comforting people? I guess that's something else to add to the list of things she's not very adept at.


	8. The Choice

**Chapter Seven**

The Choice

The Hunter went to sleep soon after, curled up on the makeshift bed under a sleeping bag I had unzipped for him. I tried to get some more sleep, too. But my mind was anxious. Restless. It would not allow me to relax, not now that I had a goal and a companion. I wanted to get moving. I had to get moving. I had to do _something_.

At last unable to bear lying there any longer, I climbed out of my sleeping bag, taking care not to disturb the Hunter, and went to rummage around the safe house. Twenty minutes and a thorough go over later, I had turned up flashlights and extra batteries, water canteens, a few more first aid kits, and a package of fireworks.

Fireworks? Well, it looked as if I had found a new purpose for my lighter.

I piled the supplies on the table next to the food supplies, then retrieved my blood-covered but miraculously intact backpack and repacked it, taking care to ensure it was still as light and maneuverable as possible. A feat made more difficult as I was packing for two people now. Not that it would matter much. The Hunter probably only needed a water bottle and a first aid kit. Perhaps it would have been preferable in the long run if he had his own backpack, but the last thing I wanted was to hinder his agility. I had a vague feeling that I would be relying on it quite a bit.

When that was finished, I pulled out the folded map that had been left alongside the pile of food and other supplies. Immediately upon opening it, I recognized the large U scribbled in next to one of the few safe house locations scratched hastily into the map by various hands. According to the descriptions and instructions, the safe house was in the back kitchen of a bakery, about two miles from where we were, nearly on the edge of town. A bit of a hike in a zombie-infested city, but there was nothing I could do about it except be prepared.

Besides, it wasn't like I would be going it alone.

I opened up a can of fruit chunks and ate my fill while I memorized the directions and considered the options. Because it was in the outskirts, the area might not be as densely populated by Infected. Since the outbreak had started mostly on the opposite side of town, many of the residents should have had ample time to try to escape, leaving a less plentiful amount of possible Infected. Unless the current Infected were spreading out from the heavily inhabited city center, moving in search of more survivors. In which case the journey was going to be quite painful.

Speaking of pain…

Wincing, I rubbed my abdomen. The sting from the wound had lessened to a dull, persistent throb, but it would be another day or two at least before I would be up to running and dodging. Same with the Hunter, as long as his healing rate was about the same as mine or much better.

If we were to stand a chance out there, we would have to put off leaving for another few days. Maybe forty-eight hours. Nice, even number. I glanced up at the clock, noting the time, and sighed. It would be a long forty-eight hours.

When the Hunter woke several hours later, I told him the plan. He listened patiently, his eerily steady gaze locked on my face until I was finished talking. Then he climbed onto the seat next to me and sniffed at the empty can of fruit. I took that as a sign that he was agreeable with whatever I wanted to do. And that he was hungry. Smiling, I opened up another can and helped him eat.

We spent most of the time sleeping, eating, and exercising—it turned out he was just as restless as I was as his strength returned, and when I started into my routine exercise drills from high school, he was eager to imitate. It was certainly amusing to teach an Infected to do sit-ups. At least a lot more amusing than forcing him to brush his teeth and trying to get him to use the bathroom like a normal human again—and I had thought giving him a bath had been embarrassing.

I talked to him too, of course, but I was more careful with my words and kept the virtually one-sided conversation to what was happening right then and there. It was difficult. After his breakdown, we had both become much more comfortable in each other's presence. I was nearly disillusioned into seeing him as another survivor, and the unfortunate side effect was the desire to talk about related concepts. Several times, I was tempted to mention the other survivors or my past life or to curiously ask him questions about his own, but it was too difficult for me to get the thoughts into words that would not have a chance of setting off another problem. There was nothing in our past lives that would not be excruciating to bring up regardless of how I worded it. Besides, I had no idea what he remembered and what he didn't, and I was too worried he would break again if I tried to push too hard to find out.

There was one fact about him that I constantly wondered, though. It nagged at me, a question I knew I would have to ask and answer eventually.

What was his name?

Since he could read and had read the message left for me, I did not bother telling him my name. It wasn't like he could use it. Yet perhaps I did not tell him because it would have brought up the uncomfortable question. For some reason, I was scared of that. It took me a while to figure out why. Besides being worried that he would break down again at being reminded of such a human concept that he might not remember, I thought of how he had tried to talk and failed. Earlier, I had tested his ability to write by asking him to scratch out a word into the side of the map, only to discover that the ability to spell and to write had been robbed of him, too, much to his increasing frustration and my disappointment. He had no other way of communicating with me besides his sounds and touches and expressions.

So even if by some sane miracle he did remember his name, how the hell would he be able to tell it to me?

I kept myself too bothered with other items of business to find out. So I remained silent and kept the burning question to myself.

Then at last, the forty-eight hours were up. My wounds felt marginally better, and I probably could have done with a few more days, but it was time to leave. I finished stuffing our old clothing into a garbage bag and heaved it in a corner with the garbage from our meals. I didn't feel right leaving the place a complete mess—my mother had raised me better than that. The towels had been hung on a makeshift laundry line I stretched between shelves after I had washed them in a fit of boredom, and our used dishes were clean and back to their original places. Then I used the bathroom for the last time, shut off the lights not in the main room, and returned to the Hunter.

He sat on the floor next to the rolled up sleeping bags. His legs were spread out in front of him, and he pawed and sniffed at the new clothes I had helped dress him in earlier—it turned out he couldn't manage clothing by himself, even with both hands free. It seemed he was relearning many human aspects by imitation, and to hell if I was going to teach him how to dress himself by letting him watch me. This time around, though, he had struggled quite a deal less, even when I had changed his bandages and checked on his rapidly healing injuries. Now he was wearing a new shirt, pants, socks, and his old sports shoes that I had tried in vain to clean. I had also changed my clothing, swapping out for a new black shirt and some comfortable sweatpants I had found while browsing the kids' section of clothing.

Back in my old life, I had often needed to resort to such measures to find suitable clothing that could fit my small stature.

Some things never change.

While I gathered my backpack and made a final check over, the Hunter waited for me at the safe room door, peering out between the bars into the darkened room, his face pressed up between the bars and nose sniffing at the air. When I was certain we had everything we needed, I came up to him.

He pawed at the bar that locked the metal door and whined.

"Yeah, we're leaving," I said, smiling. I had been smiling more often around him than I had around the other survivors. "But first, I need you to do me a favor."

He tilted his head, gaze searching my face. I hesitated. I knew what I needed to ask him to do, but I still didn't want to send him out there on his own.

He's not a survivor, Eden. He'll be fine. None of the other Infected gave a damn about him earlier unless he was attacking them, remember?

Well, except for that witch.

I felt like I was missing something important, but I ignored the feeling. No time to brood now. It was time to act.

"I need you to go get my weapons for me, okay? I won't be much help without them."

He continued to stare, as if waiting for more. When I said nothing else, he blinked and nodded, one of the movements that he had picked up from me the day before and now used at every opportunity.

"Good," I said, relieved for what felt like no reason. I stole a quick glance out through the bars from habit and then shakily drew back the lock and the bar. "I'll…wait here then, shall I?"

The Hunter gave me a look that told me such a choice should have already been obvious, but his growl was reassuring. I swung open the door enough for him to get out and he disappeared, leaping away into the darkness. I hastily closed the door after him. Instead of going out of the main entrance, I heard him go up the stairs and across the room above me towards the direction of the windows that Charlie had used as a vantage point. A few moments later, there was silence.

I waited at the door, eyes peering out into the gloom between the bars. It felt like he was gone for ages. The safe room seemed to be much larger a place with only me in it. I shuddered and squeezed my eyes shut, counting backwards from ten to try to calm my nerves before opening my eyes again with a deep breath and glaring at the darkness. Why was I freaking out like this? I was fine. More than fine. I was rested, fed, and energized. Totally ready to take on more zombies and get back into the swing of things. I was just a little nervous, because the last couple times I had been alone in a room were not exactly the best of memories.

Well, you're most likely the only survivor for miles. It's just you and a city filled with a bunch of creatures that want to rip you apart.

How reassuring.

More minutes ticked by. My thoughts cast about even more wildly as thoughts often do when forced to wait in a stressful situation. Perhaps the Hunter had run into unexpected trouble, despite my earlier reasoning. Of course, he could have run into more than just other Infected. Maybe more survivors making their way here? But no, I would have heard gunshots or something similarly indicative. He knew that my weapons were only a few buildings away. Besides, it was too much of a coincidence to expect another new group of survivors to show up out of nowhere. My own group and I rarely met other survivors on our travels after that first week. Most were either dead, Infected, or safely out of the city, and as for the rest of us, there were dozens of safe houses to choose from.

So perhaps he had run away, abandoned me to fend for myself now that he was healed and fed and cleaned and set free from this prison. But even as I thought that, I just as quickly dismissed it. I was still a little depressed at being left behind, even though I kept telling myself that I would have done the same if I had been in their place. Even though I knew that they would not have left me unless they had no choice. All of heir lives were not worth the life of just one person, not in a situation like this.

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

I almost laughed at that thought. _Star Trek_. Aliens and zombies. How's that for a sign of insanity.

I rested my head against the cool steel door. Zombies. It was a term the other survivors and I had adopted without question after seeing it plastered again and again on graffiti-riddled walls. Why were they even calling the Infected "zombies" anyway? If it was just a mutated form of rabies, then those people—creatures—were still alive, not reanimated corpses. Insane, yes, and obviously mutated beyond belief with a high tolerance for pain, but still, they weren't really undead…

_Use your head, Eden. What better way to make a creature seem less human than to give it a different, non-human name?_

Sounds of movement from upstairs told me the Hunter had returned. It jerked me out of my rambling, frantic thoughts. Of course, for all I knew, it was another agile creature taking advantage of the open window, in which case I was royally screwed unless I figured out how to defend myself against a bloodthirsty monster with a spoon.

My hands trailed to the lock bar. I stared out of the bars towards the direction of the unseen staircase as the creature upstairs made its way down. A moment later, the by-now familiar sight of the Hunter appeared in the dim light streaming from the safe room. He approached awkwardly on two legs, my katana grasped in one hand and my gun held gingerly in the other, his eyes flickering down at it in disgust.

Relief washed over me. I opened the door and he slipped in, holding out the two items to me, like he wanted nothing more to do with them. I took the gun and gave it a quick go over. It was still fully loaded and, as far as I could tell, relatively undamaged despite lying out on the ground for several days, but I would probably not know for sure until I started using it. Satisfied, I slung it over my shoulder and looked up to take the katana, glancing up fleetingly into the Hunter's face. He glared over my shoulder at the gun, a sour look in his gaze, the arm with the bullet wound rolling uneasily.

I smiled, pulling the katana from his grasp and flicking his arm below the wound lightheartedly. At the touch, his eyes snapped away from the weapon and he clicked his jaw at me.

"Relax, I won't use the gun unless I have to. I prefer swords."

To emphasize the point, I lifted up the katana, my smile broadening at the familiar feel of the hilt in my hand. Now that I had it back, the awkward absence that I had subconsciously felt the past few days was clearly evident. It felt like a part of me had been ripped away when I had lost it, but now I felt that recognizable though faded sense of invincibility. It was almost like I was my old self again.

Almost.

"Ready to go?"

He nodded, still eyeing my weapons sulkily.

"Was the street empty when you went out there?"

Again, a nod.

"Great. Then we may as well get going. I'm going to turn off the light as soon as we get out the door, so don't go too far."

The Hunter stepped out ahead of me, obediently sticking close as I exited after him, giving the safe room one last glance before I flicked the switch and it disappeared from my view. I closed the door behind me so as to ensure that no other Infected made their way in and blinked through the darkness, looking around. The room was a lot darker than I thought it would be, even though it was still daylight outside. Maybe I should have brought out my flashlight. The hand clutching the katana tightened.

"Where are you? I can't see a thing. I need you to lead me to the door."

My companion whined in what seemed like exasperation. I stretched out my free hand towards the sound, feeling my way through the dark until I connected with warm flesh. Blowing out a breath I hadn't realized I'd held, my fingers inched around his arm. The powerful muscles coiled in response to my touch and the Hunter's own nervousness and excitement at leaving our figurative prison.

"I sure hope you can see better than I can."

He growled, a sound that seemed a hundred times more threatening in the dark even though it was so familiar and held an encouraging tone. He tugged away, and I crept after him, straining to focus on the dim outline of the door. After a few moments, it was surprisingly easy to see, and I felt silly for my overreaction. But touching the Hunter gave me a strange sense of confidence and courage. It was nice to know that whatever was on the other side of that door, whatever stood between the next safe house and us, I would not be facing it alone.

The street beyond was empty, just as the Hunter had indicated. Not that I had doubted him. He walked ahead of me, sniffing around and enjoying the fresh air and warm morning sun. I, meanwhile, stopped just outside the doorway, peering around at the wide-open street, still clutching the Hunter's arm and wondering if I had made the right choice in leading us out here during the day.

The plan was to have him scout ahead every block and guide me around obstacles, whether living or inanimate, from his vantage point on the rooftops. Traveling at night would have made it difficult for me to keep up with this tactic, as he would have most likely blended into the shadows. That fact also presented another problem. In the darkness, I may very well mistake him for a less friendly creature or vice versa. It was a risk we couldn't afford to take—if he was injured without a safe house for us close enough to get to, we were both screwed.

The Hunter glanced at me questioningly while I rethought the options. My hand still clutched his arm, holding him in place, and while he was powerful enough to pull himself out of my grip, he seemed curious as to why I was so hesitant to get moving when I had been nothing but restless the past two days.

"Just thinking," I muttered. "Okay, we have two miles to go. You remember the directions I told you, right?"

He nodded and I let go of his arm. Immediately, he dropped into a crouch, bunching up his powerful muscles under him before springing away into a stunning leap. I watched as he grabbed a hold of a window ledge a story above us, then leapt again and swung with enormous strength to rebound against a small ledge setting apart one building from the next. A moment later, he was on the roof and out of sight.

Now that I wasn't concerned about him pouncing in order to rip me to pieces, I had to admit that his movements were pretty impressive.

I pressed up my back against the now closed door behind me and waited, scanning the street with my katana clutched in front of me. It was still empty. Silent. Dead. And I was alone again. Brilliant. Only this time I was out in the open where anything could see me and there was no heavy metal door to stand in the way of a painful death.

Being alone out here never bothered you before, remember?

Yeah, but I had had several guns and extra pairs of eyes watching my every move, ready and willing to provide backup.

I sighed at the memories. Those days felt like a different lifetime. Almost as if they had been lived by another person. The confidence and exhilaration I had felt at sticking my neck on the line like that was nearly nonexistent now. If the burning desire to make it to the next safe house had not been smoldering for the past few days, pushing me relentlessly onward, then I would almost have preferred to return to the safe room and sulk there until I was forced to leave or some miracle brought a new group of survivors to me.

But what of my Hunter? I would hardly think he would enjoy being cooped up again, even if a few more days of recovery was exactly what he needed.

_"My" hunter? Since when did he become your pet?_

I spared a moment to close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose. Since when did my inner voice become so critical of my thoughts? And since when did my thoughts get to the point that they deserved to be ridiculed by my own brain?

A growl sounded a few feet over my head. I looked up in shock, my katana automatically brought to bearing in defense. The familiar pale eyes narrowed, and the Hunter drew away, glaring at me.

"Sorry," I rasped, giving my head a shake to clear it. "Got distracted. Is it clear?"

He nodded once, then leapt away, keeping to the edges of the rooftops so he would be in view. Taking several deep breaths to calm my pounding heart, only to realize I was most likely not going to be getting it under control again until the next safe house, I hitched up my gun and started after him.

It was slow going. I would follow him for one block, dashing from one minimal cover to another and keeping as close to the buildings and doorways as possible. Then I would press my back up against a wall and wait while he scouted the next area before returning to lead me on. Sometimes, it would take twice as long for him to show up again, and every time that happened he would take me down a detour, adding extra time and distance to an already arduous trek. But somehow he knew exactly where it was we needed to end up. By the time we reached the intersection that had been described in the directions, my entire body shook sore with anxiety and I had a headache from the constant monologue going on in my head, trying to keep me alert and oriented in the almost silence.

It was nearly sundown, and the darkness made it difficult for me to keep up with the Hunter and closely watch the surroundings at the same time. To put it bluntly, I was one nervous wreck. I stopped and waited for what would hopefully be the final time that day, crouched next to a broken wreck of a car with bloody handprints and smears all over the body. I tried not to think about it.

_You try not to think about a lot of things, don't you? _

In the end, the waiting and the stress was worth it. There had been one or two close calls that we had narrowly avoided, including a Tank by what I had heard with my bland human hearing. But the Hunter had led me around the dangers with ease, taking care to growl in warning if something unexpected came by, and then to guide me down the safer paths, which meant a lot of alleyways and side streets. I felt like a sheep being herded along by a sheepdog, oblivious as to what was going on outside of my limited knowledge and senses, requiring the careful and sometimes angry direction provided by snapping jaws and low snarls.

It made me feel weak. Useless. Not only was I considering the fact that I was still pretty much dead weight holding back the Hunter needlessly, my mind was also back to worrying over whether or not someone or something would see him and attack. I would be powerless to get to him in time to help. It was a miserable thought that only added to my helplessness.

Was this how my friends felt when I had left them behind to go scouting ahead?

Good lord. What sort of personal hell had I put them through with my recklessness?

The Hunter dropped in front of me, his eyes dark and shadowed in the dimming light. Even though he had given me the jump more than a dozen times by now, it was still surprising enough to startle me. Probably because I was just waiting for something big and ugly to pop out of nowhere. He crouched down next to me on his hands and knees like the Hunter he was, growling in what sounded like a satisfied tone. It was almost a purr, a sound that was coming from him more and more often.

"So, we're finally there, huh?"

He nodded. I picked myself off the debris-littered ground and grinned down at him. He stood a few moments later, towering over me with his hunched form. I rolled the shoulder of the arm attached to the katana, trying to loosen up the taut muscles.

"Well, better keep an eye out then. If there's one thing I've learned about safe houses, there's always something waiting. Even if you're one hundred percent sure nothing is there."

The Hunter snorted and stalked off towards the safe house. After a few steps, he dropped to his hands and leapt off to hang onto a window across the street two stories up. Once I crossed the street after him, he pulled off a few more staggering moves and disappeared over the roof.

Apparently he had taken my comment as an insult to his scouting abilities.

But it was alright. We were almost there now. I knew exactly where to go. Three doors down, according to the instructions.

The proximity of my goal lit up a flare inside my chest that burned away my nervousness and brooding thoughts. Finally. After nearly a week of stagnation.

I finally felt like I was _doing_ something.

Enthusiastically, my body powered by a reserved burst of energy, I sprinted the rest of the way, vaguely aware of the swift shadow following my steps on the rooftops above. I glanced up to search for the sign I wanted to see. By the dim light of the sunset, I found it three doors down exactly where it was supposed to be. _Bella's Bakery_. A small, old-fashioned brick building with windows smaller than the ones at the insurance company but with the same boarded up fashion. But I wasn't too interested in those. I was more interested in the single glass door covered on the inside in blue tarp. Finally. Anxiously, I yanked at the handle.

It was locked.

My insides lurched. What? Why would it be locked? It made no sense. My tired eyes strained against the dim light, searching for some sort of sign or latch or _anything_. But there was nothing. Nothing but glass and a door that wouldn't open. I kicked at it with a flare of frustration and anger. My tennis shoes bounced off the glass, leaving me with a sore foot and an even worse mood.

"What the hell!" I snapped, pacing back and forth in agitation. "Why are you locked?"

Then a thought occurred to me and I lunged at the door, pounding on the glass with heavy fists. If the door to a safe room was locked from the inside, then surely, surely that meant that…

"Hello?" I called, my loud voice echoing down the abandoned residential street. There was a fierce, desperate hope blinding me against the possible consequences of making such a loud sound. "Hey, is anyone in there?"

A warning growl echoed to my right. I whirled towards it, registering a few moments later that it was just the Hunter.

"The door is locked," I burst out, a mixture of excitement and panic cracking my voice. "There might be someone in there. Maybe—"

I was stopped by the Hunter shaking his head. The new trick startled me into silence long enough for him to point towards a small opening in between buildings. An alleyway.

I was really getting sick of those things.

Curious, I gave the door a last glance and then strode over in that direction, peering around the corner and squinting through the gloom. The Hunter came up behind me, growling when I stopped and stared nervously. He walked clumsily on his two legs a few feet downward and then stopped to look at me and whimper. Frowning, I followed after, only to feel my heart leap into my throat.

Another door.

My free hand shot out and grabbed the handle, yanking it open with all my might as if hoping that putting in the extra effort would prevent it from being locked.

It wasn't. It opened easily. I stumbled backwards to compensate for the overdone power. But I regained my footing in an instant, dashing past the watching Hunter and into the darkness beyond.

A few steps in and I realized that I was completely blind. The sun was almost set now and the moon had started to wane during our time in the last safe house, so there was little help there. A sudden leap of fear surged through my chest. I was reminded of another alleyway door and the side room beyond housing a shrieking, sobbing creature. It was a memory that reigned in my frantic hopes and fervent determination and stopped me dead in my tracks, now looking at the darkness with a heightened anxiety. Safe room or not, it was only safe once you were behind that locked metal door.

I dropped my gun to the side and pulled off the backpack, ripping through the zipper of the front pocket to pull out the flashlight. My shaking fingers fumbled before they figured out how to work it, and then I was blinded by the powerful beam of light. I hastily aimed the ray elsewhere, blinked my eyes clear of the painful blindness, and looked around.

The door had led me into a narrow space behind what looked like the front counter, its viewing cases smashed open to allow the fumes of rotting remnants of food to pour into the air. Gagging, I turned away, venturing cautiously towards the back kitchen area. I had already walked in several steps past the heavy, standard metal door before I realized that I was in the safe room—the bakery kitchen.

Not that it really looked like a kitchen anymore. Anything that could be moved that showed its original purpose had been shoved and stacked into a far back corner. The tabletops were instead loaded with various boxes and crates, some torn open and others still intact. Food packages, both empty and untouched, lay scattered around the floor, as if hastily left behind.

I swung the flashlight to search the wall for the lights witch. It hid in a small space behind one of the crates. Luckily, my small hand fit behind it, and in a moment the room was soon saturated in bright white light.

Immediately, my eyes focused on the far wall above a back table loaded with several cases of ammo and a telling pile of neatly stacked food and medical supplies.

And right above that, like a shining beacon, was a large, black U painted on the wall.

I was there in a heartbeat, shining the flashlight beam onto the message scrawled below it despite the sufficient light overhead.

_Eden,_

_We waited as long as we could. Evac site six blocks north. Haven Community Center._

_We'll see you soon._

The words filled me with a warmth and fierceness that made me feel like I was going to overload and explode right then and there. The evac site. _The evac site_. The words repeated themselves over and over in my mind until everything was just a blur of random thoughts and emotions. After weeks of horror, relief was only a few blocks away.

The life I had lost had never seemed more retrievable than it did at that moment. I was almost half convinced that I would be back to the dull but more than welcome monotony of a normal life by tomorrow morning. Nothing seemed out of my grasp. My friends were not out of my grasp. They were right there. So close I could almost touch them, hear them, feel them.

This nightmare was almost over.

"The evac site is just a few blocks away!" I gushed to thin air, not registering that I was the only survivor around to care. I paced back and forth, waving the flashlight and katana. In my mind I was already there, waiting for the helicopter or the truck or whatever the hell it was just as long as it had another non-Infected, another survivor, another _human_. "_Just a few blocks_! We're almost there! Ah hell, we can go home! We can—"

I stopped talking. I stopped dead. The Hunter had followed me in. He stood in his hunched-over pose at the entrance of the safe room and stared at me, his face nearly emotionless. But not because he felt nothing.

He was looking at me with a look in his eyes that would haunt my soul until my dying day.

Oh my god. What was I saying? What was I thinking?

If I left, if I went to that evac site, he would be left behind. I knew without a doubt in my mind that he would not be allowed to come with me. Not an Infected. Even if he was almost normal. No, he would be forced to stay behind or…

They would kill him. They would shoot him down like an animal. Relentlessly slaughtered like a monster.

I wouldn't even be able to explain to them the truth, whoever they would be. It would be a fool's errand. Pointless. What could I possibly say? They would just believe I was crazy, driven mad by the long lonely days and nights in a city that belonged to the damned. They would just say I was insane.

Maybe I was.

But what was I supposed to do?

Just leave him?

Just…

My katana and flashlight fell to the floor as I brought up my hands to clutch my head with trembling fingers, shaking it back and forth as if trying to dispel my damning thoughts along with the whole damn situation.

"No, this isn't happening," I said, my voice screeching and cracking with emotion. The relentless feeling of hope and relief that had roared up at reading the message had warped and deformed into something indescribably painful, living, threatening to burst me in two and tear me apart from the inside. "Not after everything. Not after all that. It can't be like this. I can't—"

The words I couldn't find the strength to say choked me, strangled me into silence. I had never felt more trapped or hopeless. Not even when I had been stuck in the apartment of the dead man where I had raged to no one my determination to live, to survive to reach a goal I had not understood until this moment. And yet now, now that I was here, so close…

I was just supposed to leave the Hunter…this man?

I couldn't. I couldn't leave him alone in this hell. But I couldn't lead him to his death.

Why do you care?

You've only known him a week. Not even that. What the hell does it matter? His life has been destroyed. He's doomed. Hopeless. But you're still alive. You're still non-Infected.

You still have hope.

_Take the chance while you can, Eden. What else did you think was going to happen?_

And yet I couldn't leave him alone.

Not like I'd been left alone. It didn't feel right.

In just a few days, he'd become as important to me as my survivors.

Only this was my goal. This was my one chance to escape.

How could I leave him?

But how could I give this up?

Tears burned my eyes. I felt like I was going to burst. The breakdown in the safe house had only been a minor tantrum compared to what I was feeling now. There was surreal. Absurd.

How could it have come to this?

How had it come to the point where I was torn between choosing to stay with an Infected or running to my own salvation?

"Why the hell is this happening?!" I screamed. My voice reverberated off the numerous steel surfaces. It made me anguished cry seem louder, rawer.

Powerful hands gripped my arm and I jerked my face upward, staring into the tortured eyes of my Infected companion.

"What am I supposed to do?" I pleaded, almost apologetically. "What the hell am I supposed to DO?"

He turned his gaze away and bent down to pluck up the katana. For a long moment he stared at it, his facial muscles twitching. At last, he mechanically reached down and took my hand, pressing the hilt into the fingers until they closed around the familiar handhold. Then he turned and bolted from the room, disappearing into the darkness.

I stared at the bloodstained, dulled blade for what felt like an eternity. It stilled the storm within me, held it at bay long enough to get through one thought.

The evac site.

I stumbled after the Hunter, each step bringing a maddening sense of power and pace until I was in a full-out run. The safe room door stood wide open. Once out onto the street, my mind turned me in the direction it somehow knew to be north. I pounded down the sidewalk, blinded by my frantic attempts to escape the thoughts that I did not want to think, the painful feelings I did not want to feel.

Six blocks felt like miles. I ran without caring what I ran into or past, what I alerted to my presence with my heavy, raspy breaths and interrupted sobs.

The evac site. I had to get to the evac site. Everything would be better there. Everything would make sense again.

The towering white building loomed ahead of me, surrounded by grass and trees and playgrounds. So utterly normal and innocent in this city blasted with blood and death and unholy life. It stood out against the darkness around it, the white surface reflecting the cold glow of the half moon. A painful sob caught in my throat as I lunged forward. I was almost there. I was almost free.

I could see my friends again.

I could go back to being a normal girl.

You really think so? You really think you can be normal after everything you've just been through?

Of course! Of course I could go back to being normal, waking up in the morning to an alarm clock and a day filled with normal people and normal routines. Getting food from a fridge downstairs, letting my mom dote over me, her only daughter after years of sons and vain hopes, her treasure, her baby. Only this time I would accept it and love it instead of rolling my eyes at her motherly care. I would never let it go underappreciated again.

Oh god, just let me be normal again. Just let this all be a bad dream.

But god had other ideas.

A fierce, wild shriek erupted behind me. I whipped around mid step, tripping over my own feet and falling to the hard concrete half a block away from my destination. I lurched to my feet and stumbled forward, falling up against the wall, the katana clutched in my shaking hands as I jerked back and forth, fighting through the tears to see the danger that I knew was there.

I found it a block away. A horde of Infected. Raging. Running.

Straight towards me.

_I always get so close,_ I thought, my mind blank with desperate fear as instinct grabbed the hilt with both hands and brought the weapon to bear. Always so close. And yet so far.

How was that for irony. The bitter mockery of a world gone to hell in every meaning of the word.

The Infected drew closer with each ragged breath I drew, limbs flailing, voices guttural screeches. They bared their teeth, blood covering their chins and faces and fronts like some sort of sick badge.

There were too many of them. I couldn't find it in me to try to run away. There was nothing in me. No more feeling. I had used up all of my feelings. All of my will and determination to survive.

I'm going to die here. I'm going to die, and no one will ever know.

With an earsplitting shriek, the Hunter lunged from the roof over my head, claws outstretched. He landed on one of the forefront Infected, ripping into throat and flesh and sending blood flying and splattering into the street. Then he leapt onto another. And another. Charging through as many as he could reach, his disease-sharpened claws and teeth making quick work of anything foolish and blind enough to get in his way.

But it wasn't enough. Some got through his fury. Some made it past. And they kept coming. I tried to raise my weapon to defend myself, to keep myself alive so I could somehow find that fleeting dream of normalcy. I struggled in vain to call up the fury and insane bloodlust that had kept me going all these weeks. But it wasn't there. I was empty. Finished. I couldn't even fathom the thought of attacking, of killing one more living thing, whether Infected or not.

I was frozen. The katana blade trembled in front of me as a final wave of emotions crashed into my mind.

Oh my lord. I couldn't do this. How had I done this before? I felt sick, like I was going to throw up, like all I wanted to do was curl up in a corner with my hands over my head and scream for mercy. How could I have found the thought of this, the thought of slicing and dicing and killing…how could I have found this _fun_?

The Hunter shrieked, a mixture of anger and hate at the Infected and fearful panic at seeing me frozen in the face of an oncoming horde. My mind reeled. My body was locked out of my control.

I couldn't do this.

The Infected lurched closer. Time slowed around me. I saw every flail, every hungrily open mouth dripping with blood, every step that brought my death one second nearer.

The Hunter screamed again. He shoved Infected aside. Trying to reach me. To protect me. But there were Infected everywhere. He would not be able to make it in time unless I defended myself. We both knew that. I could see the raw horror and desperation in his eyes.

_You can't die here, Eden! Pull yourself together! He needs you!_

Yeah. Yeah. That's right. He needed me.

He needed me.

I pulled back the sword to swing, my body moving through molasses, but my mind was clear. Sharpened. The confusion that had blinded me ever since seeing that hopeless message of hope at the safe house was forced aside. There was only one thought now. Only one driving passion.

He needed me.

A cry of fury wrenched from my throat. I brought down the sword with all my might. It was the catalyst I needed. With it burst forth the hidden, tired fury that had been forced aside behind the wall in my mind that had kept my human emotions from me for so long. Until that night in the alleyway when I realized my world was not as black and white as I had thought. Until the moment on that cold storage room floor that almost broke me.

Until I met the Hunter who would change my life forever.

I swung and sliced with a renewed passion, cutting back the Infected with a vehemence that was almost inhuman. But I didn't care. I wanted to feel the blood splattering across my face, dripping down my arms. Wanted to hear the screams of fury and pain and the gurgling of the dead and dying. I had to. It was what made me feel real. Alive.

Human.

And then, suddenly, we were alone. The last two standing creatures in a street strewn with the dead. We stood, gasping down breaths to still the furious pounding of our hearts. Slowly, I lowered the bloodied blade to my side, staring with a calm steadiness towards the Hunter. He stared back, hunched over more than normal, almost in a crouch. He was covered from head to toe in blood and gore, his mouth open and panting and smeared with the dark crimson liquid that dripped down onto his soaked chest.

"Thank you," I said, my voice the calm, steadied tone that the survivors I once lived for had grown so used to hearing.

He did nothing.

I stepped over the dead bodies, trying not to slip in the pools of blood and strewn entrails, and came to a stop beside him, staring up into his face, so human in its emotional pain. I touched his shoulder, a sad, small smile stretching at my tired face.

He stared back. And then he began to whine, his face turned away as if he could not bear to look at me any longer. He took several uncertain steps towards the community center, stopping a few feet away to turn back in my direction, his head bowed.

My gaze followed him, trailing down the path he was offering to lead me down. To the building that could very well be the only chance I had of seeing my friends. My family. Of going back to some sick illusion of the life that had disappeared the day the outbreak hit the city. I stared at that white building long and hard. I stared and stared until it was burned into my memory. I stared and thought and felt and dreamed.

You really think you can be normal after everything you've just been through?

No. I could never be normal again. Just like the Hunter. My Hunter.

My friend.

I turned away from the building. Turned my back on the friends I hoped were now safe, on the chance and goal that had never really been for me. Absently, I flicked the katana to dislodge as much of the dripping blood as possible. My mind was on the thought of the safe room, of the sleeping bags stuffed in the corner under the table and the final message my friends had left me, the last connection I would have with them and with the person I once was.

The Hunter appeared in front of me, blocking me as effortlessly and as effectively as a Tank. He reached out an uncertain clawed hand as if to touch my shoulder, only to waver and fall away and start whining.

I pushed my hair out of my face with a blood-covered hand. And I looked up at him. Found the pale eyes staring down at me with confusion and fear and a faint, glimmering shred of hope.

"I can't go home yet," I said. He whimpered, searching my face. I touched the bloodied hand to my forehead, my lips turned into a twisted smile. "I have to figure out what's going on up here, okay? I have to…I'm too confused. Too lost. Too much running and fighting to think. I need to figure out who I am. What I've become. And I can't do that out there, wherever they would take me, surrounded by people who don't understand. Not really. I mean, how could they? How could they know…" I took a deep breath and softened my smile. "I need some time to sort everything out. So I guess you're stuck with me for a little longer."

He continued to stare at me for what felt like an eternity. And then he reached out and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a shattering embrace that told me everything I needed to know that was going on in his mind. He had wanted me to stay with him, more than he wanted life itself. But the human part of him knew he could not ask for it. That he could not try to turn me away from the one chance I had of escaping this hell, and somehow knowing that filled my chest with a powerful warmth that I hadn't known before. I couldn't leave him alone now. How could I abandon someone like this? He couldn't come with me. He was an Infected. And he was human. His life would never go back to being normal.

But then, neither would mine.

That was alright.

Back at the safe house, the door locked, the lights turned off, I pressed my forehead against his collarbone, hands clutching the back of his shirt as he slept, his arms still wrapped around me as if he never wanted to let go, his face buried into my hair. A sleepy smile tugged at my lips as I stared into the darkness, my mind too tired and overwhelmed by my reckless, suicidal choice to begin the relentless game of second guessing myself that I knew would come with time. I just wanted to enjoy this moment, comfortable and safe for whatever it was worth. I didn't want to think about how I had chosen an Infected man I barely knew over myself.

Couldn't think about that.

You really are crazy.

I know. How else could I have survived this long?

_You've only known him a week.  
_Only a week? It took less time for the world to change forever. It always does.

You'll have to think about it eventually. About everything that you've done and thought. Everything you've experienced. Every choice you've chosen.

In the end, when all is said and done, will you be able to live with this choice, Eden?

I closed my eyes tight and held the Hunter closer, focusing on his steady breathing, on the sickly sweet smell of blood and sweat and musty sleeping bags.

_Will you be able to live with this choice?_

I wasn't sure of the answer. But I had a feeling I would find out. One way or another.


	9. The Consequences

**Chapter Eight**

The Consequences

I dreamed of my parents. Of home. Of waking up in the morning in a nice warm bed with the sun streaming through my window and stumbling down the stairs to the kitchen where my mother was making breakfast, humming a song to herself and ready to greet me with a smile and sweet alto voice.

It was a perfectly peaceful dream, normal in every aspect. But when I awoke from it, feeling physically rested but still mentally exhausted, my sense of smell barraged by the scent of blood and my body aching with healing wounds, I began to seriously reconsider my decision to stay in the city of the dead.

Then I felt the Hunter stir against me in his sleep, his powerful arms still clutching me to his much larger body somewhat stiflingly, and I remembered with renewed determination why I was still there.

He needed me.

Although seriously, he really didn't need to hold me as tight as he was. Annoyed, I squirmed in his grip, pulling the arm not pinned underneath him around to squeeze in between us, trying to work my way free or at least win a little extra breathing space. The last time we had slept this close was during my initial breakdown, and the cold floor and extra clothing and collapsing mental state had made it so I hadn't noticed that his body radiated heat like a furnace. I certainly noticed it now. His body heat was keeping me warmer than any blanket or sleeping bag could, and it also wasn't helping that my face was burning in embarrassment at noticing that one of his hands had strayed a little too low down my side for my liking. That, and this was only the second time I could remember sleeping this close to another person.

After a few fruitless minutes, I realized I wasn't going to be making much headway as it was. There wasn't much a below-average height and weight college freshman could do against a creature who could rip apart a grown man in less than a minute. Resignedly, I stopped my efforts, my cheek pressed up against his bloody chest, eyes narrowly staring straight ahead into the darkness.

How in the hell I had gotten myself into such a situation? In about a week, I'd gone from being a reckless, determined, zombie-killing scout and group leader to being locked in a Hunter's sleeping embrace in a safe room six blocks away from liberation I wasn't planning on taking. Why did the world not want to make sense anymore?

The Hunter shifted in his sleeping, twitching against some unknown dream before heaving a deep breath and settling again. My free hand worked its way out from between us and slid back around his side, lazily drawing circles into his back while my tired mind attempted to find something to focus on until he woke up and released me. It would probably be saner for me to wake him up straight out, but a part of me was hesitant.

_Of course you're hesitant. Don't you wonder what he thinks of you now, Eden? Especially after he saw you choose staying with him over saving your own ass? Especially after you've showered him, fed him, cared for his injuries, let him sleep next to you…_

The sudden thoughts brought a lump to my throat that choked me. I drew my free arm away from him, suddenly unsure of where to put it. No. No, I sure as hell did not want to know what he thought of me after all this, not now that I was thinking about it. Good lord, what _did_ he think of me after all that had happened the past week? What sort of god-awful impression had I given him? Did I really even have to wonder? I was terrified to think that I already knew the disturbing answer and horrified that a part of me actually kind of liked the thought of it.

_Oh this is not good. You should have gone to that evac site and left him in the dust like any sane person would have._

Was it really that bad to stay with him, though? I draped my sore arm over his side, reaching down to rub the smooth outside of the sleeping bags we were lying on to give my fingers something to do. Sure, he had claws and couldn't talk, but he was lacking the terrible boils and bumps the others of his kind sported. He could almost pass as a normal person despite the skin tone and claws and eyes and staggering inhuman abilities…

_Are you seriously considering what I think you're considering, Eden? Seriously?_

Well, why not? His mind was human. Mostly. So very, very human despite all the human actions and movements he had forgotten and neglected and was now relearning through me. But the part that mattered was human. It was that part that had unselfishly sacrificed his own desires to let me go to the evac site, even though he knew the consequences for letting me do so, even though it had been so obviously distressing. It was the part that had consented to let me care for him even when it was humiliating. It was the same part that made him even able to feel an emotion like humiliation in the first place.

That's what really mattered. Wasn't it?

_Eden. Think about this. What do you know _really_ know about him? Oh, that's right, _nothing_. For all you know, he could have been some crazy chainsaw murderer in his old life. Think about it! You don't even know his name. _

My mind was starting to reel again. I labored for breath with every new thought. All right, so I didn't know his name. I was too scared to ask. But something would make it all work out. Besides, what's in a name anyway? It was just a word.

_Oh for the…he's a _Hunter_ for hell's sake. You remember what that is, don't you? Don't you remember what he tried to do to you when you first met? He was trying to kill you. He was ripping you apart until you let your insanity get the best of you and you stunned him enough to make him spare your miserable life. How many survivors haven't been as lucky? How many have met death at his claws? _

So what? It had been self-defense. I had killed hundreds of _his_ kind in self-defense. He was merely taking out any threats to his life like any other creature would do in such a situation. There wasn't anything really wrong with that…

You don't get it, do you, you stupid girl? The virus makes them want to attack survivors! Have you not considered the fact that your very presence might be driving him even more insane, trying to keep himself from attacking you? Haven't you considered the fact that because of it, he might turn on you if pressed too hard?

I…

_Why are you trying to reason this out? Why do you want this so badly that you're letting yourself compromise your own thoughts, your beliefs, your very character?_

_You've been away from the other survivors for too long._

I was going to explode. Or at the very least be sick. The stench of dried blood and the pounding of my reeling thoughts were nauseating. Panicking, I restarted twisting out of the Hunter's grasp, pushing against his chest with all my feeble strength. It wasn't working. He was too deeply asleep, too powerfully built to wake up from my pathetic efforts. A hot, furious anger flushed through my body. My hand flung back in a wide arc before speeding through the darkness in the direction I thought his face was, carrying all the frenzied fury at myself and my infuriating thoughts in its blow.

It hit its mark with a loud slap that sent pins and needles through my hand. Immediately, the Hunter jolted awake, releasing his grip on me and stumbling to a crouch against the wall. I imagined his lips drawn back to reveal bloodied teeth, his pale eyes narrowed. He growled in hurt and confusion.

But I didn't care. I sat up gasping for breath, trying to keep down the bile rising in my throat. It wasn't working. Blindly, I fumbled for the flashlight, flicking it on almost at the same time I found it and hurrying to one of the industrial stainless steel sinks a few feet away. I barely had time to turn on the faucet before my body started heaving and my stomach emptied itself violently.

The sickness lasted for several long, agonizing minutes. Then suddenly I was in control again, only now shaking like crazy. Or perhaps I had always been shaking like an earthquake and just now noticed. I let the flashlight roll onto the small surface next to the sink and then shoved my hands under the freezing water, scrubbing furiously at the blood dried all over it. When that was done, I cupped my hands together and went at my face, scraping and scouring my skin until I was certain I had cleaned off every trace of the sticky red.

Then I stood there, leaning over the sink, my soaked hands shakily clutching at the edge. I stared downward in the near darkness, watching the water pour and sparkle in the bright beam of the flashlight. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. Those feelings of mine were going to get me in more trouble than they already had me in. If that was even possible, considering. The thoughts that had plagued me while lying down now seemed so silly and immature. Embarrassing. How could I have even considered…

Something moved to my left. My eyes shifted their focus in that direction, narrowed and cold.

"Turn on the light."

There was a hesitation, and then the Hunter moved away into the darkness. After some tense moments of struggling and an angry growl, there was a click and the light flooded the room.

Blinking, I wiped a wet hand across my eyes, looking around as the Hunter returned to my side, his face wary and resentful. And still covered in blood.

"Get over here," I ordered, standing back from the sink and holding out my hand to him.

He looked like he had half a mind to disobey, still obviously smarting from being so rudely awoken, but he stepped forward into my grasp after a few moments of pause, perhaps sensing that I was not in the mood to play games. Trying not to look in his face, I grabbed his large hands and thrust them under the running water, rubbing as much of the dried blood off as I could before I grabbed the front of his shirt and forced him to bend over as close to the faucet as possible so I could try to rub off the blood caked on his face. Indignantly, he struggled and fidgeted in the uncomfortable position, snapping his teeth at my hands as I passed them over his lips.

"Cut it out," I snapped, glaring. He stared up at me sideways, his face twisted into a scowl. "Don't you dare give me that look. Do you want to get slapped again?"

The Hunter continued to glower at me for several moments more, teeth bared ever so slightly, before grudgingly lowering his gaze and turning his face away to let me continue. A few minutes later and I had done all I could. I released my hold on him and he stood stiffly, slinking away several feet to watch me while I rinsed off. When I turned to face him at last, his pale eyes were narrowed in resentfulness and a vague, hurt sense of confusion.

Seeing that emotion made guilt tighten my chest.

I inhaled deeply through my nose and brought a shaking, soaking hand to my forehead to massage my temples. I tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts and emotions that could not be washed away as easily as the blood. What the hell was I doing? Why was I taking out all my frustration at myself on him? It wasn't his fault that my mind was so messed up I couldn't even see straight. I had been the one to make this choice. The damning thoughts that fueled my doubt and anger were mine and mine alone.

"Sorry," I mumbled. My hand dropped and I turned to grasp the sink again, staring at the water as it swirled lazily down the drain. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be acting like this. I shouldn't be treating you like that. Not after…everything."

Out of the corner of my eye, the Hunter hesitantly moved closer, testing to see if I was still in a disagreeable mood or if I would do something else not very pleasant to him. Grudgingly, but feeling like I owed it to him, I turned around to face him, leaning up against the edge of the sink, still clutching it for support and the sake of something to do with my hands. He paused for a moment at my movement, but when I just stood there, he came closer until he stopped directly in front of me, his pale eyes looking down into mine, searching my face for something he wanted to find but wasn't sure was there. The resentment at my inconsiderate treatment and at the slap was fading now, warping into something different and unfamiliar. I frowned, trying to figure out this new emotion.

Hesitantly, the Hunter gently brushed against the side of my face. His feet shuffled closer and leaned down. I about lost the last of my stomach then and there. He pressed his cheek against mine, angling his head towards my hair. My entire body froze. He breathed deeply, as if trying to memorize my scent. _My_ breath, meanwhile, was caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. I couldn't tell because my mind had started spinning again. There was a buzzing in my head and ears that made it difficult to register any solid thought or decision as to how the hell I was supposed to react to something I should have seen coming, but was still utterly stunned by.

I stared straight ahead over his shoulder. His breath moved onto my neck. My eyes weren't really seeing, my brain and heart torn between two completely opposing sides that had risen up out of nowhere, fighting for attention and control.

What was he doing?

Well, that's obvious.

What was _I_ doing?

His clawed hands slid hesitantly around my waist. My heart sped up in response.

I suddenly, very clearly knew just exactly what he thought of me.

_Isn't that what you wanted?_

My hands shot down to grab his forearms before he ventured too far, firmly pushing them down to his side. I turned my head in the opposite direction from his, breaking off the uncomfortable touch, and leaned my torso away as I took a step to the side on stiff, lead-filled legs. When I chanced to look back at him, my gaze steady and stern, my heart pounded uncontrollably and the inner voice in my head sneered.

"No."

He looked at me, innocent confusion edging his gaze.

"That's not why I…" My words caught. Frustrated, I merely shook my head, gaze locked on his to make sure I got the point across. I released my grip on his arms and brushed past him to go inspect the pile of supplies left behind underneath the note. Just like the last safe house. Only this time would be the last.

Shakily, I pulled out a few cans of various food items and looked around for a can opener and some utensils. I found them tucked away in a box on the same table. I could feel the Hunter's gaze on me as I popped a few of the cans open, then retrieved two fold-up chairs stacked in the corner and set them at the table.

"Sit down," I said, setting myself on the edge of one of the chairs and gesturing to the other. I kept my gaze focused on the food. "I'm hungry, so I bet you are too."

The Hunter didn't move.

After a few tense, silent moments, my gaze snapped up at him. He was still looking at me in uncertainty, his brow furrowed, lips turned down into a contemplative frown, like he was trying to figure something out. Seeing him confused as opposed to my being confused was strangely relieving. But also somewhat infuriating.

"Look," I said. "I'm sticking around because…because I just…" I paused again, struggling to find words that would be able to provide a decent explanation but wouldn't insult him or lead him into more of a misunderstanding. Eventually, I did what any other girl would have done in the same situation—I gave up and turned it on him. "You don't _want_ me to leave, do you?"

The Hunter stared at me, his expression hardly changing, but after a few minutes he shook his head. Yet still he made no move to sit down.

Sighing, I kneaded my face with both hands.

"All right," I said at last, blinking up at him in a way that I knew made me look cross. "I'm staying with you because…well, you're my…my friend, okay? After everything that's happened the past week…I couldn't just leave you here alone in this city, and we both know that you wouldn't be able to come with me if I went to the evac site. We just have to take some time to figure stuff out, okay? Something that will benefit the both of us. And right now, the thing that's benefiting the both of us is sticking together. Besides…" My voice cracked. A ball of tears built pressure in the back of my throat for what seemed like no reason. I swallowed and pressed on. "Who's to say that whatever situation there is to evacuate is any better than the situation I'm in right now? For all I know, the entire world has gone to hell. Including…including my home."

Tears stung my eyes, and I brushed a hand across them in frustration. "Ugh, you must think I'm such a crybaby. I swear I've never cried this much in my entire life before we met. It's ridiculous."

He move towards me in my peripheral, and I turned to look at him, startled. He towered over me, and I was forced to crane my neck back to look up into his face, only to see that the confused expression was no longer there. Instead he looked…sad. He lifted a cautious hand and rested it gently on the top of my head. The familiar action almost startled me into heaving sobs. It took me a moment to figure out why.

That's what Akamu used to do to comfort Alicia. You miss your friends more than you realize.

I took a shaking, steadying breath and propped my elbow on the table, resting my cheek on my knuckles. A part of me wanted to start crying all over again, but I was tired of that. Spent. Exhaustion flooded through me, then, despite my earlier rest. This emotional turmoil crap was really wearing me down, and I hated it.

Sighing, I reached up and lifted his wrist off my forehead. I smiled. "It's all right. I'll be fine."

He growled, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, and I laughed. "Really. I'm not just saying that so you won't worry. Like I said yesterday, I just have to figure out what's going on in my head, and I guess crying like a baby is just my way of doing it. No more breakdowns from me though, okay? And no more slapping."

Still looking like he doubted my words on all counts, he sat down in the empty chair. I picked up a fork and an open can of ready to eat fruit, spearing a few chunks floating in the sugary syrup and holding it up to his mouth. He kept his lips shut, however, and merely reached over to touch my wrist, whimpering and then looking pointedly at the message on the wall.

I sighed and lowered the food. "Yeah, I miss my friends. And I miss my parents." My gaze dropped, but I couldn't bring myself to start crying again. A welcomed change, but tears had left an aching void where the emotions once were. "I miss them more than I've ever missed anything…but how can I face them like this? After everything I've done…everything I didn't do…and what if they aren't alive? What if the infection made it home and they were…were…"

He whined and I glanced up at him to see the same sad look on his face that was probably plastered all over mine. He understood. He knew. "I guess I'm just scared of what I'll find outside the city. Maybe everything is alright…but maybe it isn't. And I don't think I could handle it if it isn't. Maybe one day, but until then…I guess I may as well stick around, huh? Because, you know…friends don't leave friends behind. If they can avoid it."

A sudden pang of pain wracked his features. He turned away, as if trying to hide it, but once the look had gone, he seemed confused. I cast my gaze aside, feeling like a fool for saying such a sappy but obviously distressing line.

Had his friends also been survivors? Had he tried to get close to them after his Infection as he had tried with me? I wasn't sure I wanted to know. "Your friends…they left you behind. Didn't they?"

His gaze bored into my head. When I glanced up, he blinked and shook his head, not to disagree but as if to shake off the memories. It was all the answer I needed.

I raised the food to his mouth again. "It doesn't matter," I said. "I…I won't leave you."

The Hunter stared. I met his gaze, staring straight into his pale irises, willing him to see the truth of my dangerous promise. Behind his pale eyes, the same flurry of emotions and thoughts spinning through my own brain softened his gaze. But his seemed more distressed. More agonizing. Part of me wanted to know more. That vain, curious bit of my brain wanted to know everything that was hidden behind his gaze and inability to properly communicate. But I was too afraid to ask.

He opened his mouth, accepting the food waving in his face. I fed him the rest of the can, and then another two cans after before he was satisfied. Then I ate hurriedly, hungrily, unnerved that instead of sniffing around the room or reading the graffiti like he always had before, he sat and watched me. It made my appetite slightly less demanding and I felt full in only a few minutes.

As soon as I set the can down and sat back with a sigh, he whimpered until he got my attention, then pointed to the sleeping bags.

I smiled. "Still tired?"

He nodded, pointing to his cheek, the same one I had slapped.

"Oh right. I woke you up."

Another nod. Then he pointed to me and to the sleeping bags. I frowned, which made him growl hastily and hold his palms up as if trying to show he had no ill intentions. The move was so surprisingly human and one that I hadn't shown him that I grinned.

"Well, I guess I _am_ still a little tired."

A faint ghost of a smile edged his features. He looked relieved that I hadn't interpreted his suggestion wrongly, considering what had happened earlier.

Ah. Yeah. Almost forgot about that. I wanted to forget it again. He clearly knew where the line was drawn between the two of us now. I hoped.

_There's one thing you haven't thought of though._

The inner voice came out of nowhere, brought on by the Hunter's human actions and expressions. I didn't want to consider whatever it was I hadn't thought of yet. But I couldn't turn away from my own thoughts.

_If it weren't for him, you wouldn't be in this situation. If he hadn't attacked you, you would have stayed with your friends. _

_If it weren't for him, you would never have been in this mess to begin with._

My gaze fell away from his face. I knew that. I'd known that for a long time.

But I couldn't change the past.

He whined curiously, worriedly, wondering if he had offended me somehow.

_Then what about your future? You're so close…_

Dizziness swirling in my head, I leaned over, planting my elbows on my knees and burying my forehead in my hands. I couldn't change the past. I knew he hadn't intended for this to happen, that it wasn't really his fault. And he had tried as hard as he could to make up for it. But then why did I feel so miserable? Why was I stuck on this sickening rollercoaster of shifting emotions and critical inner thoughts?

We needed to leave this place. And soon. Or something in me would break and I would start running, trying to escape to the place that represented all my survivor hopes and goals, the gateway to a life without an Infected freak of nature as my twenty-four seven companion.

If we didn't leave this place soon, I start running. And I would never stop.

"We need to get out of here," I breathed. "Far away. Anywhere. I don't care where. Just take me…somewhere. I can't sit still anymore."

I looked up at him to find him staring back at me with his unwavering pale eyes. When he saw that he had my attention, he nodded and stood up, offering his hand like I had done so many times to him. I took it.

We tried to get a few more hours of sleep to appease our tired bodies, although the majority of the time I laid there, wide awake, listening to his steady breathing. He had wanted to hold me while he slept, but I had told him not to—I didn't want him to get any more ideas. The incident from before still burned my cheeks red whenever I thought about it. I let him sleep closer to me, though, at least touching. He seemed satisfied enough with that.

As soon as it was morning, we gathered our things, turned off the light, and shut the door, leaving the safe house and the evac site six blocks down in our wake. I was leaving possibly the last chance I had of seeing my friends…and my family. The thought of my mother sent an aching in my chest so intense it hurt. I wanted to see her again, to hug her, to talk to her, tell her everything that had happened since I moved to the city with my childish dreams…all I had to do was turn around, go to the evac site…

I never looked back.


	10. The Return

**Chapter Nine**

The Return

We traveled for four days. Four days of walking through the streets of the eerily deserted city, occasionally coming across a group of normal Infected that were easily dispatched but energy-draining and time-consuming. Four days of catching vague, distant glimpses of the more altered ones, some with startling mutations that I did not recognize but could not study further as I was quickly, nervously herded away by my ever-watchful guardian. Four days of trying to keep up with a man who, now nearly fully healed and filled with a purpose, possessed more stamina and endurance than I doubted I could match even when at prime health.

Which I certainly was not at the moment, and most likely would not be any time soon. In truth, I was exhausted.

We adjusted our traveling method. I no longer waited for him to scout ahead unless he indicated immediate danger. Instead, he kept about a block ahead of me within my sight at almost all times, allowing me to constantly keep on the move. If he needed me to stop and hide, he would come and tell me. Although "tell" hardly said much. All he could do was make a wide variety of growls and snarls and yips and gesture a lot. But it was getting easier to read his personal language, whether because he was getting better at getting his human thoughts across or I was just getting used to it, I wasn't too sure and could have cared less. It was nice having someone to talk to anyway.

The best part about this new and admittedly obvious routine was that it didn't give me much time to think during the day, and when we stopped for the night, holing up in some second or third floor zombie-free office or apartment building, huddled together now so I could leech from his warmth—I had been hesitant about this at first, but the nights were growing colder, and even with scavenged bedding, his body heat was still my main source of warmth, and he at least knew now to not hold me so—I was often so exhausted that I fell asleep easily and did not awake until the crack of dawn.

That part was normal at least. I had always been an earlier riser, much to my new companion's displeasure. Whether it was because the virus made him prefer darkness or he had always been that way, I discovered rather quickly that he was not a morning person. It took a good deal of time and convincing (usually best achieved through food) to make him get a move on, and I would often receive several disgruntled snaps and growls in the process. His lack of ability to wake up early without complaint frustrated me without fail, but deep inside I was glad.

It was a very human trait for him to have.

Once he was awake, though, he didn't waste time. After a quick breakfast of what we had scavenged the day before, we were on the move and I would begin to wish I had let us sleep in. Until my thoughts began to creep up on me and I would walk faster, pushing my tired body to its limits and as a result pushing my thoughts and inner voice from my mind.

The drawback, however, was about the same—the exhaustion. I was a born and trained sprinter with a decent amount of endurance training, but nothing to compare to the Hunter. I required occasional breaks from the relentless drive, more than I would have with my slower-paced group of survivors. It also didn't help much that I was still weak. My companion may have been fully recovered from his wounds, but my strength was taking its time returning.

I could tell that he was trying to be understanding about it, but he was beginning to show a streak of impatience. When I would stop in my tracks, my body sore and aching, and gesture to him for a break, he would rest at my side, scanning the street around us from underneath the hood of the forest green jacket we had found for him the first day back on the street—and that I had ordered him not to get too dirty, although try as he might he was having trouble with that.

Within a few minutes, however, he would start pacing, shooting furtive glances at me. Eventually, he added whining to this show, first softly as if to himself, but then loud enough to warrant me glaring at him and sitting put until he grudgingly took the hint and instead start pawing at my leg and cracking his jaw. It wasn't until the fourth morning, when it took less time than before to get him up out of bed, when he did something that made me realize he wasn't always so irritatingly impatient. He was anxious. Nervous. Distracted.

I wish I had realized it sooner.

Shortly before noon on the fourth day, I called for the first break. My feet and legs were sore, and I was sporting a few blisters now that I was sure had ruptured. As per usual, the Hunter dropped down next to me, but instead of sitting at my side, he began pacing directly in front of me, his pale eyes fixed on my face. I eyed him, and when he started whining, I waved my hand at him, as if to shoo him away, while the other hand rubbed at my ankles. He eyed the waving limb for a moment, and then snapped out. Only this time, unlike all the times before, his teeth caught flesh.

Yelping, I yanked my arm to my chest and instinctively kicked out. My foot caught him in the side and sent him stumbling. He started growling threateningly, the most feral I'd heard for days, but the sound died almost immediately. A brief look of horror flashed across his face before he dropped to his belly, whimpering and whining, his tone and expression utterly miserable. And slightly fearful.

"What is _wrong _with you?" I snapped, cradling my hand. His bite had been powerful enough to leave some marks, but no skin had been broken. That didn't make me feel much better. I glared, angrier than I had felt in what seemed like a long time. The exhaustion only made my mood worse. "You idiot. You little half-Infected zombie freak! You...what, normal food not good enough for you? Looking for something fresher like the rest of your damn kind trying to eat me?" I pulled back a lip in a snarl mockingly similar to his own. "If you even think of trying that again I'm going to kick your ass to next week, you got that?"

He lowered his head before resting his chin on the ground and crawling closer on his stomach. The whining continued, still resolutely trying to apologize the only way he could. I shot my foot out a few inches as if to kick him again. He danced away, dropping into a low crouch and continuing to look miserable after he realized I had had no intention of kicking him a second time.

"Don't give me that," I snapped. "You think after biting me like that I'm just going to forget it and forgive you? How do I know you aren't going to do that again, huh?"

He lowered his gaze, staring at the ground in front of him.

"Nothing to say?" I asked, my tone dripping in mocking and sarcasm. "Oh right, I forgot—you can't talk like a normal person, can you?"

The Hunter jerked his face away. After a moment he retreated a few feet against the wall to my side, just within my reach, and pressed up to the brick, huddling down into a ball, his head and gaze lowered so his upper face was cast into shadow. But he didn't leave. A part of me knew it was because he wanted to make sure I remained protected, but another part of me suspected he was afraid I would walk off without him, turning away from the path he was leading me down. He would not force me to follow him. Somehow I knew that, and that thought made me feel a bitter sense of victory and control. I remembered how he seemed always so willing to please me. He didn't want to give me more of an excuse to want to leave him.

A flurry of new hurtful words related to those thoughts filled my throat, words that sounded so far over the line, even to me in my furious, exhausted state, that I paused.

_Shut up while you can, Eden. You're hurting him more than he hurt you. It was just an accident.  
_  
An accident. Right. An accident that he was starting to act like the rest of his damned kind. An accident.

_It was just an accident. You know it was. This isn't like you. Well, the anger is, but not your behavior. You don't treat your friends like this. Especially after how you treated him in the last safe house.  
_  
_You made the choice to stay with him, remember? You knew the risk of that choice.  
_  
The thoughts sobered me up a bit. I felt like shouting more insults at him, but I forced myself to close my eyes and take several deep breaths, reminding myself of that night in the last safe house when I had also let my anger get the better of me. Of course, this time it was his fault. This time...

It took me a few minutes and a quick glance at his sagging, dejected form, patiently waiting for punishment, before I was ready to admit that it really had been just an accident. It wasn't his fault. But what had caused it to happen?

I rubbed at the fading bite mark. He had not been watching what he was doing. After all, he had done the same action to me many times before. It had become habit, one of his few means of communication, although I had never really waved my hand in his face like that. Something was distracting him. Making him unusually impatient. Now that I thought about it, his impatience was something I hadn't begun to notice until leaving the last safe house. If it was from a danger stalking us, surely he would have indicated that to me as he had always done before. So if it wasn't that, then...perhaps it was whatever lay at our journey's end. Nothing dangerous for me, I was sure of that, or at least nothing more dangerous than anywhere else in the city. But that was it then, the only thing that made much sense.

Wherever he was taking me, the closer we got to it, the more agitated he became. And that agitation was distracting him, enough so that he had bitten me.

_See? It was just an accident. Of course he would never hurt you on purpose.  
_  
A twinge of guilt shot through my system. I opened my eyes to stare at my feet. In my peripheral, he raised his head, almost fearfully. Resisting the urge to look at him in case my anger was not quite gone, I pulled myself to my feet, stretching my sore, tired limbs. The anger, as it always did, had drained what little strength I had left now that it was retreating. But regardless, I wanted to get moving again. The sooner we got to this mysterious place, the sooner things would get back to normal with him.

Or as normal as anything could get in a zombie apocalypse with a zombie at my side.

At last, I crouched down. His body shifted slightly back, as if he wanted to pull away, but he held still, his eyes rising to stare at me in the face once I was low enough not to give him a crick in the neck.

"It was just an accident," I muttered. I felt like an idiot. My face and neck were hot with embarrassment. I also felt strange. I had never apologized this much to any one person before. It was becoming a habit I hoped would not be lasting long. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I acted like an asshole. Again. You wouldn't hurt me on purpose. I know that."

He searched my face. A let a small, apologetic smile pull at my lips. In response, he whimpered and pushed himself into a similar crouch to mine, uncertainly picking up my hand, the one he had bitten. He looked down at it, his rough, calloused fingers carefully brushing across the faded bite marks so as not to cut me with his claws. With each pass, his expression twisted more with regret.

"Well, you're certainly easy to forgive."

He ignored me and continued his strange routine.

"It's all right," I said, shrugging, resisting the urge to pull my hand away from his coarse grip. "No harm done. Nothing permanent."

He didn't seem convinced. He stared down at the injury, if it could even be called that, softly rubbing it with his sandpaper fingers over and over again, as if attempting to remove all trace of it, as if to prove that he wasn't all teeth and claws, that he could be gentle, too. I smiled and delicately lifted his circling hand away. His gaze remained fixed on the mark until I wiggled the hand from his reluctant grasp and hid it between my drawn up legs and my stomach.

"It's fine. I didn't mean anything I said. I was just angry because I'm tired and kind of worn out, all right? It won't happen again now that it's happened once, because we'll be more careful. So let's get going. Put it behind us. Sooner we get to wherever it is you're taking me, sooner we can rest, yeah?"

The Hunter blinked and reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the direction of my injured hand. I stood and he followed, towering over me as usual even though he had a little steeper of a stoop. Smiling again, I flicked him in the shoulder. His head moved as if to snap at me as he always did when I did that, but he stopped just in time, hastily turning away and jumping up to the rooftops.

I sighed, then gathered up my things and started after, trying to ignore the sharp pain in my feet and the weary weight in my mind.

It was well past midday before I was forced to stop and break again. Wincing, I sat myself in another doorway, head rested back, eyes closed. This was getting ridiculous. It was embarrassing to have to stop this much. Maybe we should find another safe house, hole up for a little bit while I worked myself back to shape. Even though I had a feeling the downtime would drive him insane. He was not the type of creature to cope well with being indoors for long periods of time with as much energy as he had. Maybe after we reached this mysterious destination, then.

There was a soft thump as shoes landed on concrete in front of me. Something brushed up against my side. I opened my eyes to find the Hunter squeezing in his larger form to sit on the step beside me, abandoning his crouch for the more human position he rarely used without a chair. I didn't have to wonder why. He was trying to make up for the bite earlier. Trying to prevent it from happening by behaving more human.

I didn't want to think about it. Or let _him _think about it either.

"Want some lunch?" I asked, peeling off my backpack. He looked somewhat longingly down the street in the direction we had been traveling, then turned his pale eyes to me and shrugged. After a moment of rummaging through our meager supplies, I pulled out a bag of Doritos we had scavenged from a convenience store the day before and popped the plastic open, scooping out a handful and dumping the orange chips into his eagerly outstretched hands. The typical ghost of a smile twitched at his features. I couldn't help smiling in response. Another thing I had learned was that he loved those chips. It was one of the few junk foods he cared for. The only other was a good Snickers bar or a package of Oreos.

"We'll just stop for a few minutes. We'll be back on the road in no time."

The furious crunching noise told me that he didn't seem too concerned about traveling right then.

I glanced around the street we were on as we ate. It was a wide three-lane thorough way lined with older buildings that seemed vaguely familiar. But they seemed to be everywhere in this city so no surprise there.

Curiously, I let my attention trail down the street towards the direction we were headed. I hadn't paid much attention to what was further than one block ahead, too focused on the Hunter, my immediate surroundings, and my various aches and pains. My eyes skimmed the deserted pavement, skipping over the huddled masses of rotting flesh that were now showing bleached bones from prolonged exposure. The smell was terrible, but I had become so used to the underlying stench of rot and decay and death saturating the city that it no longer registered. I wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

I let my gaze travel further down the road. More old-fashioned buildings with the scattered occasional alleyway. Nothing I hadn't seen before. And a little farther was the start of a spacious parking lot where the small businesses and residential buildings gave way to some sort of strip mall. Great, more things to raid. Of course, the often meant more Infected too, depending on the type of stores. If I squinted, I could just make out the signs indicating the usual: one of the many chain grocery stores, an electronic store, a few restaurants, and...

My heart skipped a beat. A large green sign with white lettering spelled out the name of a store I knew well. An outdoor recreational store. One I had an unsettling feeling had mysteriously held an AK-47 several weeks before.

The three-lane street. The row of buildings.

I snapped my gaze around, skimming the street with a new purpose, frantically searching for what I already knew was there. There was a thin sliver of blackness almost directly across from the parking lot. An alleyway. My mind supplied the picture of the fire escape, the dead bodies of Infected investigating the sounds of four survivors trying to make it to the roof. I pictured some of the decayed corpses with their heads blown off, others with viciously sliced sword marks.

I shook myself furiously, angrily.

Impossible.

It couldn't be. What were the chances...what...

How, how of all places, had we ended up here? So close to the beginning?

Then new images flashed and flickered. The Hunter. The side room of the safe house where we had first become friends. A bloodied, ripped shirt with the university logo and name that I knew well.

The chips fell from my hand. I stood up, my body seizing, breath trapped in my throat.

I knew where we were.

And I had a pretty damn good idea where we were going.

"Where are you taking me?" I demanded, rounding on the Hunter. He stared up at me blankly, obviously sensing that something was wrong but uncertain how to respond to it. But I thought I saw a flicker of something that seemed to confirm my fears.

I broke into a run. Down the street towards the store. Down the street towards my memories. Driven relentlessly by the need to know for certain, the need to find out for myself.

A shriek erupted behind me, filled with surprise and fear and frustration. I ignored him, my head filled with a strange buzzing. The chances of this being the same store, the same block, the same part of the city where my fellow survivors and I had been all those weeks ago...how could it be? How could I even consider?

Yet as I rounded the final corner of buildings to pad out onto the open tarmac of the vast parking lot, my eyes skimming the side of the large gray building for the employee entrance that I knew to be there, my hopes that I was mistaken were dashed. I skidded to a stop in the middle of the street. Yes. We were here. I was in this place where I thought I would never be again in my living days.

There was a heavy thump behind me, and it startled me out of my stupor enough that I took a hesitant step forward, not out of fear, but out of a strange desire to keep running, to explore this place I knew so well and wished I didn't.

The Hunter growled. A vice-like grip grasped my wrist, pulling me around to face him, to see the worry and confusion edging his haggard features, my backpack and weapons, which I had carelessly left behind, slung over his shoulder or tucked awkwardly under his arm.

My throat felt raw, my mouth dry, but I forced the words out anyway. "We're going to the university. Aren't we?"

He searched my gaze, as if trying to gauge how I would respond. Then he lowered his eyes and nodded.

"Why?" I asked, shakily clutching the cloth over his arm. "Is it because...are you starting to remember something? About your past life? When we first met...you were wearing a university T-shirt. You said then that you couldn't remember if you were a student or not. Do you...remember now?"

He released my wrist, staring off in the direction of the distant university. Then he slowly nodded, his pale eyes flickering. My grip on his jacket tightened.

"When? When did you start remembering?"

His eyes looked down into mine. Then he pointed straight at me, the claw of his pointing finger pressed lightly below my collarbone.

I let go of him. Faced away, searching the familiar cityscape. Searching. Waiting. I'm not sure what for. Maybe a part of me hoped for some sign of my friends. Some sign that this was all just a sick dream, that if I stood and stared and waited long enough, everything would go back to how it used to be. After several long silent moments, listening to his breathing behind me, I bowed my head and rubbed my face with my palms.

"I know that you want us to get wherever it is you're taking me, but...but I need to stop somewhere first. Just for a few minutes. Just to see...it's an apartment building in the residential block." I looked up at him. "Think we can do that?"

He nodded without hesitation. I held out my hands for my equipment and he gave me back the gun and the sword, choosing to strap the backpack over his broad shoulders. I frowned. "Are you sure that's not going to...hold you back or anything?"

He gave me a faintly condescending look, as if wanting to act insulted but not quite able to, before taking my arm and leading me a few steps towards our mutually understood destination. Once my stumbling steps of uncertainty giving way to my usual brisk pace of purpose, he took the lead. We walked past the stretch of stores and restaurants, long since raided or abandoned, down the street to a place that had once been so familiar, but was now merely an unrecognizable echo of a world long since passed. Onward, until we were standing before one of the many apartment buildings situated along that small stretch of road, one of the many apartment buildings that had once housed teeming throngs of university students, all with their hopes, all with their dreams.

All gone now. Except for me.

_What are you doing, Eden?  
_  
The voice had returned in that moment of uncertainty. I was too tired now to keep it at bay. Ironic, since my exhaustion had been the barrier I had relied on these past few days.

But I knew what I was doing. I was facing the beginning. Facing the moment when my entire world went to hell. I pictured the scene. The carpeted hallway, the twisted bodies, the open door leading into the room where it had all began. I stared up at that building that I had once looked on with excitement and pleasure, the place where I had seen nothing but a bright future filled with my own doings, my own choices, something better than the wonderful world I had foolishly left behind.

It didn't look very welcoming now. The windows, many of them broken, peered out like gaping, soulless eyes onto the city that would no longer bring it its inhabitants. It looked sorrowful, if buildings could look sad.

I suddenly wanted to turn away, to tell the Hunter to take me to his destination, to force me to leave this haunting place. But this place was my home. _Had _been my home. Once. Until the day I had left it for what I thought would be the last time. Until the day I had ventured out into a new world.

Until the day I had killed my friend.

And now I was back to face my memories. To face what I had become on that day. I needed to. All for some reason that I could not comprehend.

The Hunter nudged me in the back, whimpering. I drew a steadying breath and stepped forward, katana held at ready and senses stretching to their limits. But the only thing that met us as we pushed through the doors was overpowering stench of fermented death. I almost lost my meager lunch then and there. I pulled my shirt up over my lower face and pushed ahead, pausing only for a moment to withdraw the flashlight from the backpack still strapped to the Hunter.

There was death everywhere. Soaked into the floor. Into the air. I tried to ignore it. There was only one image of death burned into my mind. Three floors up. And as I shouldered open the door leading from the stairwell to the hallway of the highest residential floor, I found with a jolt that it was still there. It was like returning to the scene of a heinous crime of my own making. Only it hadn't really been a crime. It had been self-defense.

Right?

The body of my first kill lay stretched out on the floor before a gaping dark doorway. Or what was left of her after weeks of being locked up in a building with no air conditioning and hordes of hungry monsters.

This time, I really did lose my lunch. All over the ugly brown carpet.

My friend whined and rested his hand on my back as I heaved. After a moment, I wiped my mouth and pushed forward into the room next door, trying not to look too closely at anything else. Trying not to remember.

Then suddenly I was there. Standing in the entrance to the apartment. Staring into a sight so familiar it made my heart ache. I stood on the edge of room that had somehow avoided being touched by the horrors of the outside world. It sat exaclty as I had left it when I had seen the terror outside my window, had gone next door to investigate frantic screams with my katana in hand, only to find that first scene of death.

It was like walking into a memory. Like walking into the past before this whole mess had started. Everything was in its place. It was as if nothing had happened. Nothing had changed. My apartment. My home. For a moment, I could even almost fool myself into thinking that nothing was wrong. That I was just returning home from that last day of class before everything went to hell. That everything was...

It was too much. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor. The flashlight and katana rolled away with a clatter. Behind me, the Hunter cried out and grasped my shoulder to steady my dangerously swaying form.

"I'm home," I said weakly. The words felt foreign, strange, and the sound shook me, forced me awake. I shook my head, blinking around, taking in the familiar sights of my things. My belongings. My former life as a simple university student.

There was that couch that we had lugged across half a state, the one I had always loved in my aunt's basement, a going away gift. There on the table near the kitchen entrance was a row of neatly organized frames, each filled with face of the people I loved. My mind pictured my modest bedroom, the laptop propped open on the writing desk next to my small but comfortable bed, probably unmade. The pictures and movie posters hung on my wall. Everything that had made this my place. My home.

But…no. This wasn't right. This wasn't my home. Not anymore. This was a part of my life that I would never get back.

I brushed my fingers across my companion's hand. He whimpered again, and the sound slid down my throat like an elixir, burning away my weakness, my fears. Strengthening me. And a part of my mind dragged itself from the darkness, firmly and securely squeezing into place. The weight that I had only begun to realize was there lifted.

I looked at the apartment with fresh eyes. I didn't want this life back. It had never really been meant for it. I was holding onto something old, something that no longer suited me. But I wanted it to be preserved. Untouched. Until the building fell down and buried the last of my past. Until the city crumbled and nothing remained to remind me of what I had lost.

Nothing but my memories, anyway.

They would be enough.

I picked up my things and backed out, shutting the door behind me and facing the Hunter in the darkness. From the reflective light of my flashlight, I could see him staring at me, both hands held now at his sides. He knew that this had once been my home. He understood. He was waiting for my reaction. Waiting for me to break down, to give out in the face of my memories.

But that wasn't going to happen. Something had changed in me. Something for the better. Even without an extreme response, even without the mental and physical breakdown I thought would occur in this place. For the first time in weeks, I rested my hand on my companion's shoulder and felt at peace. That old life had been real. But this…this life was real, too. This life with my friend. And it was right here. Right now. There was a whole world of adventure out there. An entire world of freedom. The freedom I had always wanted but had not seen in the light of all the loss and pain and fear.

I took a slow, deep breath.

"My name is Eden Pride. I was born on June 14, and I'm eighteen years old. I have three older brothers and awesome parents who love me to death because I'm their youngest child and only daughter and my mother always wanted a daughter. My favorite color is brown, my favorite food is pasta, I love history classes, and I was the top sprinter in my track team in high school."

I reached over and slid my hand into the larger, rougher hands of the Hunter. He grasped it tightly, his pale gaze searching mine, trying to find the reason behind my words.

"And I'm a girl who survived a zombie apocalypse. I'm a girl with a Hunter for my best friend."

I smiled then, brightly, childishly. Smiled and laughed at the bewildered look on his face, before gesturing to the stairwell, onward to the destination I now understood.

"And now it's your turn."


	11. The Name

**Chapter Ten**

The Name

"This is where you lived?" I asked, looking up at the four-story structure interestedly. I felt my heart beating slightly faster in anticipation of something I only vaguely understood. Beside me, the hunter nodded slowly, eyeing the darkened building rather apprehensively. Sensing his anxiety, I reached up and tugged lightly on the edge of his hood, giving him an encouraging half smile when he turned to scowl at me. "Relax. I'm sure this place can't be any worse than mine."

He continued to stare at me for a few more moments, his face unnervingly void of emotion.

"We could always go somewhere else," I offered lightly. He shook his head slowly, still frowning. "Well, go on then. I'm right behind you."

He heaved a sigh and stared up at the building one last time before starting towards the front door, walking rather stiffly on two legs across the last stretch of pavement and concrete to disappear into the darkness beyond. I hurried after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides, flicking my flashlight back on and cutting into the dimness.

The apartment building was less than a block and a half away from my own. It was one of the upper scale apartment buildings that usually housed graduates who were already settled in a career and simply continuing their education or spoiled undergrads with rich parents. I had passed it every day on the way to campus. Burning questions about his past life began popping up furiously in my mind, and I struggled to force them down and be patient. With any luck, I'd have my answers soon enough.

His apartment was on the top floor much like mine had been. Also like mine, there were a fair amount of decaying corpses littering the stairwells and the floors. He skirted them rather uncharacteristically, as if afraid they would suddenly lunge to life and grab him. Obviously, he was nervous. Anxious. Maybe a bit excited. After half a week of traveling, we had finally reached his destination. We had made it to the place where he had once been human—non-Infected. I couldn't even begin to guess what was going through his mind right then. A part of me was vaguely worried. Would he be able to handle confronting his past as well as I had? Not to say I had really done such a hot job myself. But still.

My flashlight caught him just in time to see him disappearing into the stairwell at the end of the hall. I followed at a distance, feeling slightly peeved at being left behind like this, although I knew the reason for it. Curiously, I looked around the building as I stepped up my pace to catch up. Yeah, certainly upper class. The carpet was a pretty deep red and felt nice even beneath shoed feet. Everywhere was oak paneling or nicely painted white walls with classy-framed pictures or oak side tables with extravagant vases. More a hotel than an apartment really.

The staircase was less impressive. It was exactly like any other stairwell, although I could tell it had once been quite well kept. Obviously, most residents used the elevators. My flashlight shone up the stairwell and I saw him already mostly to the floor up ahead. Hitching up my gun, and took the first flight of stairs two at a time before giving up and slowing my pace back to something manageable. I was really getting tired of climbing stairs. I ended up half a staircase behind him, so that when I finally made it to the last landing, he was already standing in front of his closed apartment door, breathing somewhat heavily, his hands clenched into fists, back straight and unexpectedly rigid. Slightly concerned, I swallowed my breath and came up next to him, the flashlight pointed to the floor at my side, my eyes peering through the gloom to try to see the expression on his heavily shadowed face.

"Are you all right?" I asked quietly. My voice seemed to die in the air, muffled by the smell of death and the darkness.

He jerked his head slightly in a movement I could not quite interpret, and then he slowly reached out and grasped the doorknob. With a shaky turn and a light flick, the door swung open almost leisurely. Dauntingly.

I heard the hunter intake a breath sharply as the door connected with the wall with a light thud, swung forward a few inches, then stopped.

He didn't move. Just stood there, staring. I glanced up at his darkened face, then into the room beyond, waiting. But when he made no move to enter, I sighed to myself and carefully swung the flashlight to bear, casting it over a large spacious living room with expertly matched furniture so unlike the mismatched items usually found in college dorms, a developed kitchen and dining area that had been kept clean and organized. Despite that, there were signs of having been lived in though. A pile of DVDs sat rather haphazardly on the coffee table in the living room. I thought I saw what looked like several gaming systems set into the cabinets below a large flat screen television. Bags of chips, mostly Doritos, and empty cans of Mountain Dew were clustered on the kitchen table. The dining room table was covered in open books and notebooks. And there were pictures and posters on the walls, a jacket slung over the back of the couch, a few pairs of men's shoes stacked near the door.

I swung the beam of light back and forth, taking it all in rather eagerly, picking up on every detail. There were three doorways leading off from the main room, and some of the shoes by the door were of a much smaller size and different style than the ones I suspected belonged to the hunter. So he probably had a roommate then.

A roommate. I glanced up at him, then back into the room. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what had happened to his roommate.

He was still standing stock still, unmoving.

"Do you want to go inside?"

Again, his head twitched, almost uncertainly.

I chewed on my lip for a moment, considering. Then I slowly stepped forward, entering the room that was really the only view I had into his world. His old world.

I stopped a few feet into the apartment, swinging the light back and forth again and breathing deeply. The smell of death was less strong here. In fact, it smelled vaguely of what I guessed to be oranges and leather. The leather was hardly a surprise—most of the furniture seemed to be made from it. Overall, it was a rather pleasant smell. Especially after smelling death all over the place over the past few weeks.

Something brushed past me as the hunter slowly stalked in, his body returned to its hunched over stoop as his head moved back and forth, nose twitching as he sniffed about. I stood and watched as he paused to inspect the jacket on the couch, and then hesitantly moved through one of the other doorways into the room beyond, glancing back at me rather furtively. Curious, I glanced around the living room one last time and then followed after him.

It was a bedroom, probably twice the size as my own bedroom. I took an educated guess that it was probably his bedroom. Like the outer room, it had matching furniture and an overall theme. I wondered vaguely where this show of interior design came from. There was a large bed, made up with forest green covers. A smaller version of a flat screen television was mounted to the wall in front of it. On the writing desk were a desktop computer and printer and a closed laptop. There were also a few shelves, most piled with books that ranged everywhere from the classics to more modern fantasy or science fiction, and scattered on other surfaces were framed pictures or knickknacks like DVDs or an iPod speaker stand. Even a few bottles of painkillers and flu medication.

That sight in particular unnerved me.

I stepped in a few steps, glancing at him as he looked around for a moment or two, then briskly walked over to the closet and began swatting clothes down, sniffing and apparently looking for something. Maybe a more comfortable hooded jacket. Either way, he was openly leaving me up to my own devices. He apparently didn't care if I explored a bit. Which was fine with me. I wanted answers, I wanted to know who this man was, and this was probably the only place I would be figuring anything new out.

I started first by pulling back the heavy curtains over the windows, bathing the room in natural light from the bright afternoon sun. He spared a moment to turn and hiss at me at that, but when he shortly returned to raiding his closet, I turned back my own attention to closely inspecting the pictures on the dresser tops and walls.

The first one I looked at was a picture of what I thought was his family. There was an older pretty woman with blonde hair and warm blue eyes standing in the arms of an older man with muddy brown hair and a kind smile. They looked about the age of my parents. Probably his parents, then. Either way, they were some sort of family relation. The hunter had the same sort of facial structure and hair as the man in the picture, and he also shared the woman's eye shape and eyebrow position. I smiled slightly and looked at the next picture, this one of a man sitting in a swimming pool with his powerful, muscled arms folded up on the concrete, a swimming cap and goggles on his head and a large grin on his face as he looked at the camera. It was difficult to see features, but he looked like the hunter. The hunter when he had been human. It was impossible to tell the color of his eyes though. The picture was too small. So I moved to the next one, this one of a group of friends. I picked it up, examining it closely. There were three guys and a girl, all grinning broadly with their arms around each other. The guy on the end was holding up a glass of beer. They seemed to be sitting around a table at some bar, laughing and joking and caught in a moment of happiness. I picked out the hunter easily, sandwiched in the middle, taller than everyone else even sitting down, and this time I was able to tell the color of his eyes.

I felt my breath catch. Blue green. A deep, haunting, beautiful blue green. His muddy brown hair was wisped to the side in a carefree style. His skin was a light tan, as if he had just come out from a leisure day in the sun and his teeth were white and even. He may as well have been a model. He looked happy. Content.

Human.

I set the picture down rather abruptly, gasping down a breath to restart my breathing. My insides were churning horribly. I felt goose bumps breakout over my arms. The image of his human face burned into my mind, overshadowing the face of the hunter that I had become so familiar with. It was almost dizzying. I felt like I was intruding on something private. Sacred. My gaze fell, turning away and moving on from the row of pictures to idly search the walls for something else, something to distract me from the memory.

There was a set of frames on the wall that weren't pictures. They were about the size of a normal piece of paper set horizontally with writing on them. Immediately curious, I stepped closer.

It was a college diploma. Two of them, actually, as far as I could see. I recognized the embellished heading of Haven State University. Curious, I leaned closer towards the nearest one, squinting at it through the dimness. Bachelors of Integrated Studies in the areas of Chemistry, Physics, and Mathematics awarded to…

"Terrence Sanders," I breathed. Unlike out in the hallway, my voice seemed to hang in the air, resonating between the four walls.

The movement behind me in the closet suddenly stopped.

There was a beat of silence, so taut I was sure one single sound would break it. Inside me, my mind had screeched to a jarring halt. My breath was caught in my throat. Those two words were the only thought frozen into space and time, the only substantial thing that existed to me in that silent, spinning moment of discovery.

Suddenly, I had the answer to the question that had burned within me for days. Weeks. It was what I had been hoping for, what I had been looking for. But so unexpectedly seeing it there, right in front of my eyes that would not lie, realizing who it described, who it belonged to…

It made it all real. Everything. The companion I had been with for the past little while was suddenly a complete stranger. He was changed, different. No. My _mind_ was changed. Everything I thought I knew about the hunter was breaking apart. All of the memories of the past two weeks that had seemed like a lifetime were shattering. Oh my god. The hunter I had come to care for had a name, a face, a college degree that put my own intelligence to shame. He had had a roommate, a bedroom, a place to call home. He had had a family, friends, a hobby, maybe even a girlfriend and a job…

I was suddenly overwhelmed by the thoughts, the possibilities. He had had a life. A human life. One that he had lived for years before the outbreak. _Years_. The hunter I knew had only existed for weeks. He had once been human. He had once been like me. Like I had been before the outbreak.

The thought hit me so hard then that I felt like staggering. I felt like my heart was being wrenched apart, a delayed reaction to a fact and realization that I already knew but had not totally accepted until right then, until it was shoved so far into my face that it was impossible to continue to ignore. Hell, I wasn't stupid. I knew that he had had a perfectly normal human life before the outbreak. How could I not know, after spending so much time with him, after musing endlessly over that very same topic and how even mentioning it might bring up a mental collapse? Of course I knew. But it had never seemed real. The only man I knew who was real to me was the creature he had become after being Infected, the hunter who was now my friend. Yet there was so much more to him. So much so, that I suddenly felt like I knew nothing about him at all.

He was no longer just a mentally, physically damaged creature, looking to me for the comfort and sanity he could find nowhere else. He was no longer just a half-Infected freak, unable to even feed or dress himself like a human without my assistance. I understood then that I had never seen him as human. Not really. He had been too feral, too animalistic, too dependant on me, the only non-Infected in the whole damned world who could stand to be around him and what he had become.

The thought brought tears of self-disgust and fury to my eyes. I had never truly stopped thinking of him as a creature. I had never truly seen him as a person.

And…oh my lord.

My hunter had once been nothing but a perfectly normal man.

I thought I knew him. I knew nothing.

Nothing.

The framed diploma in front of me disappeared. I jumped, startled back into reality by the unexpected movement, looking around wildly for the source, only to lose my balance in shock and fall against the wall. The hunter was suddenly there next to me, unsettling close, the frame grasped tightly in his clawed hands. He stared at it for several long, silent seconds, his eyes blank, his mouth twisted into a grotesque scowl. Then he turned and threw it against the wall with a shriek that ripped open my very soul from the sheer, raw agony it contained. The frame broke from the force of impact, leaving a dent in the cream colored paint, before it fell to the carpet with a hollow, muffled thump.

He turned to look at me, heaving for breath. All I could do was stare. His face was contorted with an anguish that I would never understand, the eyes burning with the insanity that I had thought he had conquered, but had been living inside him still, locked away to fester. I could tell then that the life he had lost was suddenly as real to him as it was now to me, more so than ever before since the outbreak. Somehow, he had managed to avoid thinking about it, even when he had brought me here, to probably the last place he had been non-Infected. Being a hunter before meeting me, living like an animal driven on instinct, had prevented him from thinking about it. Being in my presence had only continued to delay the pain. But hearing his name had awoken it. I had thought he had had his breakdown in the safe house. I was wrong. That was nothing. A mere precursor to what was really going on inside his mind. The virus may not have consumed him like the other Infected, but it had still claimed him just as thoroughly.

He turned his gaze away from me and I took a shuddering breath without realizing that I had been holding it. His gaze roved over the picture frames I had barely finished inspecting. He stepped forward, stared at them for a few moments, then swung his arm fiercely, sending them scattering against the wall and to the floor. A few of them broke, sending tree root like cracks across the smiling faces.

The hunter snarled at them viciously, as if they were threatening to attack him. The sound sent shivers up my spine. It was a dangerous sound. Deadly. I raised a hand as if to touch him, a lump forming in my throat. I wanted to talk to him. Calm him. I wanted to say his name. But I couldn't. It was stuck in the back of my throat as if my body refused to let it go, as if saying it out loud again would mean accepting it was real, that the hunter was more human than I had given him credit for.

I felt like a coward.

The hunter turned away from the scattered pictures, his body bristling as if preparing for a fight. He glared around at the room, his eyes glinting dangerously under his hood, before he focused on me. For the first time in days, I suddenly felt scared. More terrified of him than I had ever been of any Infected before. So much so that I took a wary half step away from him, my hand gripping the katana handle a bit tighter.

But his gaze swung away from me. He focused instead on the other diploma on the wall behind me. Stepping past rather rudely, he reached up and swatted it off the wall, his claws leaving deep gouges in the sheetrock. He lashed out again, snarling harshly, sending even more dark gashes into the off white paint. I backed away from him, painfully colliding into the dresser only a few feet away. I felt numb. Distant. Like I wasn't really there. Even though he was close enough to touch. Hear. Smell.

He went into a frenzied rage then, clawing and snarling and growling as he clawed at the wall, only to fling himself away and begin clawing at his jacket, his hood, as he stumbled about, ripping the cloth easily in between lashing out at his belongings, sending them flying to the floor. In moments, the room was a complete mess and dark stains began burgeoning through the fabric of his clothing, spreading rapidly as his claws connected with flesh. In the light from the window, I saw flecks of blood flick through the air. And all the while he cried. Wailed. Screamed and sobbed in lament for the person he had once been and could never be again.

I winced, my entire small form trembling. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. I knew I had to stop him before he damaged himself. But what in hell could I do? He was larger than me. More powerful…

That didn't stop you before.

No…no, it hadn't. I took a shaky step forward, wincing as he let out a guttural, harsh shriek of misery. I inhaled a shuddering breath, my chest tight almost painfully so, steeling myself, my mind casting about frantically for an idea. I had to do something. Anything. If I didn't, I would lose him to his insanity forever. But my simple hugs and words would do nothing for him now. The band-aid cure that had worked in the safe house those many days ago was worthless here.

Think of something else then! Quickly!

I took another step forward, gritting my teeth. _Something_…something. An idea, flickering in the back of my mind. A memory from the last safe house. A thought.

He needed to be reminded that he was human. That was it. That was what I had to do. No matter the cost. It was a gamble. A high stakes gamble. But I didn't see any other choice. If I let him continue in the hopes of burning himself out, who knew what his mental state would be. In the process, he would only damage himself further, maybe even to the point of no repair. And I couldn't live without him. Literally. I couldn't survive out there own my own. I couldn't _be_ alone. For the first time, I realized that I was terrified of losing him like I had lost the other survivors. My friends. It was a thought I couldn't bear. A situation I was willing to do anything to avoid.

Anything.

My breath came painfully, lungs struggling to intake air as I made up my mind. I stepped forward again, my pace more confident, but my brain feeling eerily detached from my body. My katana and flashlight fell to the floor. My gun shortly followed. It was as if another person was stepping closer to the thrashing, crying creature, momentarily slumped up against a tall set of drawers as he clutched at his head with his shaking, taut hands, his shoulders heaving.

I moved forward swiftly now, forcing myself to take advantage of his momentary stillness. He had enough sanity left in him to sense me coming, and he whirled around to face me, his entire body posed as if to attack, blood trickling down his face and onto his clothes, down his front from the many self inflicted wounds on his head and neck and chest. He snarled at me, his face more animal-like than it had been since I had met him. He looked like something out of a nightmare.

It hardly fazed me. My whole life was a living nightmare. And I was tired of running away from it. Instead, I flung myself at him before he could think on what to do in response to what he saw as a threat. My arms locked around his neck, yanking him towards me, forcing him to face me as I dove my head forward, pulled myself up into him, and pressed my lips against his.

He flung himself backwards, stumbled, and fell hard on his backside against the wall. It forced me to my knees awkwardly in front of him, and my kneecaps stung slightly at the heavy impact. His lips were soft but stiff and unrelenting, and I knew that there was blood being smeared onto my face, my arms, my front. But I didn't care. It didn't matter. All that mattered was somehow I brought him back to himself. Somehow I saved him. I felt him inhale sharply, his movements momentarily stilled, so stunned by the unexpected action that the insanity was instantly held at bay. Any attempts to free himself were immediately halted and his arms flopped to his sides like a puppet cut from its strings. Sensing he had regained control, I jerked myself away, searching his gaze as he stared down at me in stunned disbelief. The look in his eyes almost made me cry with relief. The animal in his expression had faded. It was the hunter I knew staring at me. Mostly. He was miserable, beaten, troubled. But he was still there.

The small gamble had paid off.

I turned my face away, withdrawing my arms from around his neck to wipe the back of my hand across my numb, tingling lips, smearing the blood that had trickled onto my face at the momentary contact. My face was burning furiously and I felt flushed, ashamed. There was a buzzing in my ears and my brain that dulled my senses and my thoughts. I felt like I was in a dream. The situation was surreal. My mind was struggling to comprehend.

What in hell's name had I just done?

There was a soft whine and I automatically glanced at him, even as I was pulling myself away, sitting back rather heavily onto the carpet only a foot or so away, unable to find the strength to stand on my shaking legs or move any further back. The hunter was looking at me with an expression of mixed emotions from under his shredded hood. Confusion. Fear. Longing. Worry. I tried to smile, but my facial muscles seemed to be out of my control. Instead, I drew a small breath, just enough to form words, my gaze cast downward to stare at my knees, unable to bear looking him in the face.

"I'm sorry," I breathed, my voice cracked and harsh. "I…are you…okay now?"

He made no move to respond for several moments. Then slowly, hesitantly, he leaned forward, his arms rising hesitantly until his bloodied palms shakily rested on either side of my head. My breath caught again. I felt lightheaded, probably due to the fact that my breath had become so interrupted and irregular over the past few minutes. Or at least that's what I told myself. I simply stared at him, too numb to speak or pull away, my heart thudding loudly in my buzzing ears, chest constricted painfully, even as he drew his face forward, pulling me to him, closer.

His lips brushed against mine and I closed my eyes tightly, as if it would make the whole situation go away. As if it would rewind the past few minutes so I could stop this entire mess from happening in the first place. I was suddenly aware of how much I was shaking. A part of my mind broke through the tumultuous deadness of my thoughts, screaming at me to pull away, even as he pressed against me more firmly, even as I felt his lips part, coaxing mine open in the process. Another part of my brain poked through the fog, sickeningly urging me on. And all the while my brain reeled while my body struggled to keep in control of the mixed, conflicting emotions bursting furiously in my chest and my mind.

What had I done?What had I _done_?

Hadn't I told him in the safe house that I didn't want this? Couldn't he understand that the only reason I had started this whole mess to try to save him?

I was shuddering furiously now. My breath came heavily through my nose what with my mouth currently preoccupied. Shakily, I reached up a heavy hand and grabbed a hold of his wrist, the only movement I could really manage. The rest of my body felt like it was encased in lead, all control wrenched from my grasp. It didn't stop him, not that I thought it would. It seemed to only encourage him. I was vaguely aware as one of his hands pulled away from my head, sliding down my arm around to my back so he could pull me closer to him, close enough that he could hook the arm around me and hold me there, cradling me in his powerful grip. The other hand slid around to the back of my head, bloody claws digging lightly into my hair.

I felt his breath against me, steady now. Calm. But I was anything but calm. I realized that I was tasting blood. Tasting him. I felt a surge of panic rise through my body, up into my throat past my chest, exploding in my mind. It was too much. I didn't know how to feel, what to think. I didn't want to know.

With a muffled sound in the back of my throat, I jerked my head to the side, breaking off the connection with a shuddering breath. I turned my face away, downward, unable to look at him. Even as he whined questioningly. Unhappily. I wanted to say something to him, try to explain, but it was impossible. My throat felt as if it would never work properly again, and even then my mind was unable to think of the words to say.

My fingers on his wrist closed tightly and I pulled the arm away, turning out of his grasp and standing up so abruptly that my head spun for a few moments. He whined again, most hesitant this time, but I merely shook my head and stepped over one of his legs in my way, stumbling forward until I fell against the bed, drawing myself up to press my back against the headboard, my arms wrapped around me tightly as I tried to still my shaking. The din of thoughts and voices in my mind had stilled. It was quiet now. Quiet like the grave. Like the city.

In my peripheral, I saw the hunter stand slowly, his face turned towards me, watching. He took a step towards me and I turned my face away slightly, just enough that he was still in my vision but only barely. Another beat of silence passed. Then I saw him walk tentatively, hesitantly, out the door towards the living room, glancing back at me furtively until we could no longer see each other and he had disappeared into the darkness beyond to wonder and to mull.

With a shaky breath, I lay down on my side and curled up into a ball, staring blearily at the gouge marks decorating the wall by the door. I felt miserable. Broken. As if I didn't belong in my own body. I was feeling physical pain, not from my healing wounds, but from my mind and my heart. It throbbed in my chest and my temples. It burned my eyes and my nose and sent a ringing in my ears.

I was scared. Of myself. Of the hunter. Of the name I had wanted so badly to learn and yet now wished I had never found out, even as I mouthed it voicelessly into the stillness.

Terrence.

Terrence Sanders.

The man.

The hunter.

My friend.

So funny that those two little words would have such an effect on him. On me.

I felt so alone right then. More alone than I had felt when I had been locked away in that dead man's apartment. More alone than when I had suffered the breakdown in that safe house that had changed everything. More alone than I had ever felt in my life. I wanted to call him back. I wanted him to comfort me, to hold me. But fear stopped me. I was afraid of what would happen if I let him get close to me again.

And I was afraid of the fact that if he kissed me again, next time, I wasn't so sure I would pull away.

* * *

**Author's Babble:** Ah, so we finally find out the hunter's name! And his college major. Seriously. I know people who have majors like that. And many of them still manage to have some sort of social life. Fun times.

Also, time for a fun fact that may or may not be relevant to the story. The actual rabies virus is present in the saliva of an infected individual. That's why it is spread through bites. Although it has been known to be transmitted via inhalation (which I suppose explains the theorized airborne strain of the Green Flu). Just letting you know. Might help make sense of a few things in the next couple of chapters.

Well, anyway. Next few chapters will have some surprises! Also, I am planning on posting a short side story detailing what happened to the other survivors after being separated from Eden, told from Charlie's point of view. It should only run a chapter or two in length, maybe three if I get carried away. Keep an eye out on my main page for that!


	12. The Hunter

**Chapter Eleven**

The Hunter

It was too early to sleep and my mind was too troubled, my body too energized and confused. The events of that day had mentally worn me out more thoroughly than any physical activity could. So instead, my brain went into some sort of trance.

It was welcoming. No dreams. No memories. No thoughts or nightmares or inner voices to haunt me. I laid there for hours, simply existing. When I came too, dragging myself up from the dark depths of my brain, it was nearly dusk. Pale orange light filtered in through the blinds, casting long, deep shadows around the bedroom. The day was almost over.

Groggily, I closed my eyes and turned my face into the covers, breathing deeply. They smelled sweet. Like oranges. And maybe something earthy. There was also a hint of chlorine, like a swimming pool. A spark in my brain told me that it was the Hunter's smell. Terrence's smell. When he had been human.

I convulsed at that thought. God, why did I keep doing these things to myself.

I shoved myself up, sitting precariously on the edge of the bed and rubbing my face. I was about as messed up as I had been before zoning out. Maybe even more so. My fingers lingered as they brushed past my lips, then fell to my lap.

What was I going to do now?

My mind drew up an immediate blank. I had screwed up big time. But then, what else was I supposed to have done? Slap him like they did in the movies? He probably would have seen it as an attack and ripped me open. Scream his name at him? His name was what had started the entire episode in the first place. Throw a bucket of water over his head? Okay, maybe that would have worked, but where the hell would I have gotten a bucket of water?

I stole a glance at the door. It was almost all the way shut. There was just a sliver of an opening now, probably so the Hunter could hear if I called him. Or broke down. Or something. I didn't know. But the thought of the Hunter waiting out there, dislodged from his own bedroom, made me feel more guilty than I thought possible.

I was being so selfish.

If _I_ felt screwed up, how did the Hunter feel after everything that had happened, everything I had put him through? I had given him more mixed impressions on how I felt about him than he probably knew what to do with. He didn't need that after all this crap going on in the world and in his mind and body. He didn't need me adding to his insanity by tugging him back and forth like a puppy on a leash.

So what was I going to do about it now?

I frowned as something bubbled through my distressed, roundabout thoughts. No. Wait. That wasn't the right question to ask at the moment. I should be wondering what exactly was going through my insanity-prone mind first off. I needed to figure myself out before I tried to do so with everything else.

So how _did_ I feel about him?

I buried my face in my hands. That was the question that needed to be answered. Without an answer to it, I would have no idea what to say to him when I finally got up the guts to go out and face the music, or I would end up saying something that would only cause further problems. But I didn't want to think about it, because thinking about it meant admitting another level of abnormality in my life. Admitting it meant that things would change, and I was tired of change. Sick to death of it.

With a deep breath, I cast my gaze around the room, trying to put my thoughts in order, trying to delay the inevitable. My attention trailed to the pile of broken picture frames, the ones that had once been placed so carefully and lovingly on top of the set of drawers.

Easing myself off the bed, I crouched by them, picking up the picture of him and his friends and squinting at it in the dying light. The Hunter's human face stared up at me, a frozen moment in time long since gone and impossible to retrieve. A sharp throb of anger shot into my throat. Why had this even happened to him in the first place? What right did the world have to ruin such a wonderful person, to stick him into a horrifying situation beyond his control?

I set the picture down and sat back against the bed, my knees drawn up to my chest. I stared at the wall where the Hunter had let loose his anger with his claws. I hated whatever reason had been behind the Infection, whether it was a random fluke of nature or the terrible error of humankind. I despised it.

How many lives like the Hunter's had the Infection ruined? Thousands. Probably millions by now. Entire cities of thriving populations wiped out and reduced to handfuls of struggling survivors in less time than it took to drive across the country. And here I was, one of those errant survivors, experiencing firsthand the many horrors that had resulted from the outbreak. The Hunter was one of those horrors—I was watching the suffering of a man caught in limbo, that appalling place of being trapped forever in between two worlds.

Unless…unless there was a cure? Unless somehow, by some god-sent miracle, someone somewhere could figure out how to save him? After all, this was being considered a virus, right? Sure, some viruses didn't have cures, but maybe this one was the exception…

The thought sent a thrill of wild hope down my spine. But I pushed it away, filing the thought into the back of my mind for a later time. If ever. No. No, I couldn't think about that right now. I needed to stop distracting myself. I had enough problems in the immediate future to worry about. Like facing the Hunter after what had happened earlier today. Yeah, I had to worry about that.

The Hunter…he was my friend. That much I would admit. He had protected me from other Infected countless times. He had guided me around danger and ensured my safety whenever he could. He had followed practically every request I had given him. He was…he was wonderful. I thought of everything he had done for me, almost always without complaint, and if he did complain then it was for good reason. He respected my requests and for the most part put up with my random mood swings. He was just…he cared for me. God, he cared for me so much. It had never really occurred to me until right then. But I knew now. It was the way he acted around me, the way he held me at night when we went to sleep, the way he had kissed me only hours before…

Panic replaced my anger. My stomach churned with butterflies that would not settle or fade while all the while that single revelation ran through my mind: He cared for me. And I knew that despite everything I told myself, everything I denied, I cared for him. I cared for him _a lot_.

My fingers dug into the soft carpet. I didn't want to admit it, but there it was. I had kissed him earlier not only because I wanted to shock him back so sanity, but also because a subconscious part of me had wanted to do it for a long time. And I was scared of that. I wasn't too sure of the reason behind my feelings. This situation was hardly ideal for developing any sort of relationship beyond companionship. How could I know that what I felt for him was genuine, not some illusion built by loneliness and convenience that would disappear when—if—we ever came in contact with other people…other non-Infected, honest-to-god _people_? Would I still feel the same about him if he weren't the only choice?

I winced at that unspoken question. There I was again, thinking only about myself. The Hunter obviously didn't have similar qualms in feeling about me. Although maybe that was because he realized that the chances of him finding anyone else who cared about him in his current state were slim. For him, there would be no "other people." There was just me.

I slammed my palms into my forehead. God, I _really_ needed to stop thinking like that. I needed to stop overanalyzing things. I was making him sound so…_pathetic_ when I knew that he wasn't. I just needed…I needed to _feel_. I needed my brain to stop talking to me, trying to reason everything out, trying to put sense into every situation that came my way. After all, we were in a _zombie apocalypse_. What did reason and logic have to do with anything?

I cared for the Hunter more than I would a friend. I cared for him more than I had ever cared for anyone, almost as much as a family member or my former group of survivors. No, even more.

There. That was the sum of it. That was the confession that I needed to own up to. And I didn't like him only because he had a great face and a great body, however damaged and scarred. I didn't only like him because he was the only guy within miles that I knew of who wouldn't mindlessly rip me to pieces on sight. Even though I had only learned his name that afternoon, even though I still knew next to nothing about who he had been before the outbreak, I knew enough about who he really was—beyond the standard facts of family member numbers or school degrees and majors or hometown—to realize that even though I had told him at the last safe house that I didn't want to be with him in any other way than friendship, I sure as hell wasn't feeling the same now. He was as kind as he was uncertain, as caring as he was awkward, as submissive as he was powerful. As human as he was Hunter. Learning about his past didn't matter anymore. The past was gone, swallowed up in the destruction of the city. But the Hunter…he was still here. And so was I, for whatever that was worth.

I pushed myself up off the floor, retying my ponytail and straightening my clothes. Then I stood there, eyeing the door as the room descended into darkness. Okay, so that was one question answered. Now for the next one.

What was I going to do?

Obviously, I needed to talk to him. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, but I needed to put his doubts—and mine—about what was going on between us to rest. Even though…it scared me.

I rubbed my arms against goosebumps that had nothing to do with the slow drop in temperature. My number of serious relationships with the opposite gender was running at a zero. There had been something unappealing to me about dating guys I had grown up with since kindergarten. I had a feeling he probably had a better track record. The way he had kissed…well. Either he was experienced or a damn good natural. Not that I really needed to think about that right now. Now was not the time to contemplate on the fact that he was obviously a few years older than I was and thus more experienced with life, and now was definitely not the time to think about how I was just barely fresh out of high school and that god, I was so _young_. Sure, I knew kids who got _married_ at my age. But that wasn't me. Not that I was thinking about marriage. Because I sure as hell wasn't.

One step at a time, Eden. You're going to end up thinking yourself into a blubbering mess in a corner at this rate.

My head flopped back nose. I really hated this. I really hated my brain, not to mention the whole cursed situation. How had I gone from killing Infected to considering a possibly serious relationship with one of them? And what did it even matter? This insanity was our life now. Although…what happened if this didn't work out? What happened if we found out that we just couldn't deal with each other like that? What if…

I jerked my body towards the door, one foot shakily put in front of the other. I couldn't stand there any longer, letting my thoughts get the better of me. Again.

Good god, I thought _way_ too much.

I picked up the flashlight from where it had fallen, and with a hand slick with perspiration, I pulled the door open. The only sound of it opening was a gentle whoosh as it passed over the carpet. Daylight was almost completely gone now, and I had to pause a moment to squint through the gloom in an attempt to locate the Hunter.

There was nothing.

Frowning, I flicked on the flashlight and crept out into the living room, searching with the wide beam. Surely he hadn't left me here alone…?

I found him curled up on the couch, apparently asleep, much in the same position as when he had first rested in the first safe house. I tried not to shine the light on him directly, but as it passed onto his body, his eyes shot open. The pale orbs glinted in the light as his head perked up and he turned to stare at me over his shoulder.

A smile forced its way onto my face. "Hey," I said, my voice hoarse. "How are you feeling?"

He scrambled onto his feet, facing me over the couch in the near darkness with a hesitant, uncertain air. I could tell by the expression on his face, illuminated by the castoff from the flashlight, that he was unsure how to answer my question. He searched my face anxiously, worriedly, as if he was afraid of what I had to say to him, as if he wanted to tell me to never mind how he felt because he was more concerned about me.

There was a moment of awkward silence while he debated on how to answer and I debated on what to say so he didn't have to.

"So is…is it okay if I use your name?" I asked. It was the only thing I could think of.

His eyes flickered and he lowered his gaze to stare at the floor before nodding.

Clearing my throat with a cough, I raised the beam of the flashlight to cover his body below his chin. I couldn't resist wincing at the sight. His clothing was once again in shreds and matted with dribbled blood, a startling similarity to his encounter with the witch. He saw what I was looking at and hastily crouched over, his powerful arms wrapping around his chest.

I took a step forward, stretching my free hand out as if to stop him, only to be halted by the couch.

"Terrence," I said, my brow furrowing.

His gaze shot up to my face, and the expression in his eyes made me falter. That was probably only the second time he had heard his name called since he had become Infected. The effect on him was different than the first time but no less overwhelming. For a moment, I saw the human he had been in the picture currently laying on his bedroom floor staring at me with a mixture of longing and sorrow.

I swallowed. "Where's the backpack?"

His eyes flickered down to his feet. It sat on the floor, propped up against the couch.

Stiffly, I walked around to it. He shuffled a half-step to the side so I could sit at the end of the couch and pull the backpack onto my lap. Before I opened it, I glanced up into the Hunter's anxiously watchful face and gestured to the open couch beside me.

"Sit down, Terrence."

He did so at once, his face again lighting up at the sound of his name. But he sat himself further away than he usually would have, as if afraid he would be pushing his luck if he sat too close.

I unzipped the main compartment of the backpack and dug out the first aid supplies and the bottles of water, laying them on the small space of couch between us. With numb fingers, I ripped open a few packages of gauze and bandages and disinfectant wipes and ointment packets, making sure everything I would need was in easy reach before I turned my attention back to him.

"Come here," I said, trying to keep my voice light and casual as I held out my hand. "We need to take off your jacket and shirt. Get you patched up."

He hesitated for only a moment before scooting towards me and leaning forward. I unzipped his jacket and helped him pull it off. I did the same with his tattered shirt, tossing both damaged items of clothing onto the floor next to the coffee table. Then I shone the flashlight onto his body as I had done a dozen times before when checking his bandages or helping him dress.

Despite my earlier worries, he had not injured himself as badly as I had feared. I raised a tremulous hand and inspected the fresh wounds among the faded scars, trying my best to ignore the fact that his breathing became shallow and slightly strangled at my touch. He whimpered, the sound barely audible, but I pretended not to hear, focusing on the job at hand.

It didn't look like any of the new injuries were too deep. He would have some lovely scars, especially on his face where he had torn up his forehead and cheek and his upper lip, and his hair was matted with blood in places from where he had ripped into his scalp, but overall he was nowhere near as bad off as he had been in the first safe house.

"Hold this," I said, taking his hands and positioning the flashlight in them so it shone onto his body. I selected what I needed from the pile of supplies next to me and got to work, struggling with the awkward silence that fell between us. After a few silent minutes, I couldn't take it any longer. "You really tore yourself up, didn't you?"

He stared down at the supplies in embarrassment, and the light in his hands fidgeted.

I bit my lip, wishing I didn't have the small tendency to sometimes blurt words out without thinking about them. I paused and lightly rested my fingers on his wrist. "Hey, I understand. It's fine. No big deal. It probably doesn't feel so pleasant, but it doesn't look like there's any permanent damage, so don't go beating yourself up over it. Just try not to let it happen again, okay?"

He whimpered in acknowledgement, but his eyes were focused on my hand on his wrist. I let it rest there for an extra moment before returning to work. I patched up the few wounds on his chest and then took a hold of his head, gently leaning him down so I could reach his injuries. One of my thumbs paused to brush against his upper lip as I inspected the thin scratches marring it. His lips pursed at the touch. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his expression nervous and hopeful. My hand fell away. I picked out one of the ointment packets and gently dabbed a little onto the claw marks.

"You know, usually Akamu was the one to patch people up," I said. "He was always good at things like that. He probably could do a better job than I ever could…"

My fingers faltered. I stared at them as if they had betrayed me, aware that the Hunter was looking at me. "I'm sorry…I never told you about the other survivors…the people I was with before I met you?"

He whined, and I looked up in time to see him shake his head. His face was close enough that I saw his eyes lit with hungry interest. The corners of my lips twitched. "Would you like me to tell you about them?"

The Hunter nodded. My fingers and eyes returned to their work, but I obliged.

"There were five of us in total. I guess I was…sort of the leader. I don't know, they all listened to me, and I always seemed to make the decision about where we were going and what we were going to do next, so maybe in a way I was the leader. I was pretty different back then, you know. Even though it's only been…what, two weeks?"

I smiled bitterly, and poured some water onto one of the deeper wounds on his forehead, wiping the blood away with some gauze. "I guess I was pretty…crazy. Well, you kind of saw how it was. I like to think it saved us more than once but…well, anyway. Akamu was the one I met first, back when this whole thing began. He was the strong, silent type, you know? I guess it's kind of hard to imagine a big, Polynesian football player of being the most…well, _nurturing_ member out of all of us, but he was. I think we all sort of relied on him to keep us sane and calm. Alicia was the one who had the problem with being 'calm.' I met her second, just a couple of minutes after Akamu. She was running for her life, and we saved her—well, Akamu did. It took her a while to come to terms with everything, but even then she tended to break down a lot. More than one night I heard her cry herself to sleep. Which was probably a normal, reaction, huh? Everything was just too much for her, you know? And then…then there was Professor Horatio, one of the history professors…"

The Hunter perked up. He nudged my knee with his knuckles, and I looked up at him in surprise.

"Oh, did you know Professor Horatio?"

He nodded.

"Did you take one of his classes?"

Another nod.

I grinned. It felt strange to suddenly find a vague connection between his pre-Infection life and my post-Infection one. It was a good kind of strange. The pressure on my mind foreshadowing the eventual conversation I knew the two of us needed to have lifted just a bit. "Akamu had one of his history classes. He said he was a pretty cool professor, sort of laidback and funny and stuff, but still pretty serious."

My companion nodded, his eyes shining with the human memories that I knew he had not really recalled until right then.

"He sounds like he was a great guy. I wish I'd had the chance to take a class from him before this whole mess started…you probably wouldn't recognize him now. He doesn't talk much anymore and he's distant, like he's not really there. Like he's lost in his own brain or in the past or something. I guess…something happened to him before he joined up with us. We met him out on the street when we were trying to escape my apartment building. He was just…wandering around."

I paused in my narrative to finish placing the gauze on his forehead. I wrapped a bandage a few times around the area, holding it in place. He would look ridiculous, but it would probably only be for a few days what with his high-paced healing rate.

"Charlie is the last member of our group. He's a little older than me…maybe about you're age." I paused, a sudden question flickering in my mind. "How old are you anyway?"

The Hunter craned his head back, regarding me with a hooded gaze.

"Oh right. Well, let me guess then…uh…twenty? Twenty-one? Twenty…five?"

He nodded at the last guess, his pale gaze trained on my face as if to gauge my reaction.

"Heh, third time's the charm," I said. "Charlie is a little older than you, then. I think he said he was twenty-seven? He was in some computer-engineering program. Getting his master's or something after taking a few years off to work full-time at some company. When we met him, he was locked up in his friend's hummer with a bloody crowbar. He's a cool guy, the type who jokes around and stuff to cope with things. I get along with him the best, I think, personality-wise. No one else would really joke around with him, so I guess it fell on me. It drove Alicia nuts—she thought we weren't taking things seriously. Heh. Kind of ironic, considering he was the best shot when he wasn't moving and I was the best at melee."

I ran my fingers through my ponytail, smiling at the memories. Talking about my survivors made me feel freer, if a little sad. I still felt the loss as fresh as if it had barely happened. But then, I had something to make up for it now. Something to fill the void.

"I haven't really thought about them in a while," I said, staring at the hands in my lap. I had finished with the first aid work. He was as patched up as I could get him now. It was up to time and his body to do the rest. "They were good friends, all of them. Great people, you know? Even though we were sort of forced together, we all learned to live with each other. They were like…like family, I guess. You don't really choose your family, but if you stick with them enough, if you figure out how to live with each other and appreciate each other…you don't forget people like that. I…I really miss them."

The Hunter whimpered. His tone was reassuring and sympathetic, more than enough to get across the words that he wanted, but couldn't, say. I caught his gaze in the castoff from the flashlight, and I smiled, reaching up to brush my thumb across his upper lip, across the thin lines that marked it.

"But that's all right. I have you now."

I'm sure the words surprised him. The mood between us changed, shifting away into a mixture of awkwardness and tenseness, a stark difference from the comfortable atmosphere that had settled while I talked about my survivors. His gaze flickered, searching my face, looking for a cue in my expression as to how he should feel, let alone react. After a beat of silence, he raised a bloody clawed hand to grasp mine.

"I'm sorry I've been acting like a jerk to you," I muttered. I was staring hard at my hand, still resting against his face and caught in his rough but gentle grip. His gray-toned and red-splattered skin was a stark difference compared to my own pale brown. "It's probably been driving you crazy. I know it would drive me crazy if I were you. I think…I'm just…I'm just scared…of getting close to someone. I lost the other survivors so fast…I didn't even have the chance to say goodbye to them. They were just…there one moment, and then they were gone. I didn't get the chance to tell them how much they mattered to me. They saved my life so many times, and they did so many things for me, and I…they just…"

My eyes stung, but I kept my gaze steady, boring a hole into the back of my hand. I took a slow, shuddering breath and the powerful grip encompassing my hand tightened. He let the flashlight fall to the side so he could brush aside some stray hair that had escaped my ponytail and was hanging about my forehead and cheeks.

I looked up at him, at the strange, pale eyes so full of sadness and understanding and caring that my body found a stray tear to send trickling down my cheek. His sharp sight noticed it and he began whimpering, carefully brushing it away with his thumb. It was such a tender action that I couldn't help smiling. I my palm flat against his cheek, and he leaned down into the touch, staring into my gaze with a longing and need that I had never really seen before.

God, he was _starving_ for affection. He _needed_ it. So very badly. Like the sound of his name, it was the last thing he had that made him feel human.

I could have felt like I was being used. But any doubt I had didn't seem to exist right then. Because I knew I wasn't being used. I was being loved.

There were so many things I wanted to say to him. So many thoughts and emotions and memories that I wanted him to know, that I wanted to share with him even as they swirled around in my mind. But I couldn't find the words. I struggled in vain to try to figure out how to tell him, but there was too much for right then.

I had a feeling he understood.

He leaned his head toward me slowly, his eyes searching mine for any sign of a negative response to the move. He touched his bandaged forehead against mine, slid the hand on my arm around my back and pulled me closer. My hand not being held to his cheek rose up to his neck, pressing against the warm skin until I felt his heartbeat, a steady, pulsing rhythm.

The Hunter pulled me closer, reaching his other hand around to do so. There was no ill intention in his hold, and I knew he just wanted to be close to me, but I felt a jump in my stomach anyway, even though I had been this close to him before many times. Although granted, it had never been without him wearing a shirt.

I turned my face to the side and his grip on me lessened immediately. But he didn't pull away entirely.

"Sorry," I murmured, looking at him sidelong as he searched my face. My throat felt like sandpaper, and I cleared it painfully before going on. "It's not what you think. It's just…I'm not really big on shows of affection, okay? I know it sounds stupid."

He stared. And then I thought I saw a shadow of a smile of relief flash across his features. He growled reassuringly and withdrew his arms, pulling away just a little bit to give me some space. I took a steadying breath, settling back against the backrest of the comfortable couch.

The Hunter let me breathe quietly for a moment as I tried to pull myself together, and then he whined until he got my attention, pointing at me and then at himself almost shyly. It took me a moment, but I eventually figured out what he was asking. I laughed so suddenly that I started coughing from the exertion on my dry throat. He was pointing to the left of my chest, to my heart, and then to his.

Wiping my mouth once the coughing fit subsided, I grinned at him and playfully flicked his shoulder.

"Are you asking me if I like you?"

He nodded, but the movement was slow, as if he was wondering if it was a bad time to ask.

"Terrence, if I didn't like you, I never would have kissed you."

It wasn't much of an answer, but it was all he wanted. All he needed. I didn't have to ask how he felt about me. His face lit up, and for the first time since I had known him, probably the first time since he had become Infected, Terrence Sanders smiled. The effect on his face—on his entire appearance—was staggering. Even though his skin was still gray, his face still scarred, his eyes still deathly pale, it was like looking at a different person. But not a stranger. It was the man behind the Hunter. The man that the Infection had not been able to touch.

I wanted to hug him. I wanted to throw my arms around him and hold him until the rest of the world fell down around us. But I was tired. Exhausted. I was suddenly aware of my entire body being sore and aching. It was getting late, and the day had been long and challenging, and that sudden realization made the moment pass.

"Well, now that that's settled, it's getting a little late," I said, shrugging and still smiling. It was impossible for me not to when he was smiling back like that.

I gestured in the direction of his bedroom. A day ago, I would have had qualms about sharing a bed—_his_ bed, no less—with him. True, I still felt a little hot on the face with the thought of it, but we had been sleeping next to each other for nearly two weeks now, and I knew without a doubt that even with what had happened today, even with him knowing how I felt about him, he would never do anything to intentionally make me uncomfortable. "You don't mind if we sleep on your bed, do you? The last time I slept on a bed was in that apartment when we first met, and I have a feeling you haven't really had the best sleeping arrangements either."

He shook his head and jumped to his feet, offering his hand to pull me up while he grabbed up the flashlight. I couldn't help noticing that he stood straighter, and the smile seemed to be fixed on his face. As soon as we walked into his bedroom, he handed me the flashlight and went rummaging around in his drawers and closet while I sat on the bed and eased off my shoes and socks from my sore, tired feet. Within a few minutes, he had gathered a bundle of clothes that he took back to me, depositing some on my lap and holding the rest.

"What's this about?"

He pointed to the clothes in my lap and then to me, and then he pointed to the clothes in his arm and then to him.

"Clean clothes would be nice," I said, setting aside the lot he had chosen out for me and standing up to help him get on his.

He had pulled out a dark green shirt and a pair of boxers and shorts for himself. The shirt was easy enough, but I had him fetch a towel so we could get the rest on—it was a routine that we had accomplished several times before. Then he retreated back into the living room for a few minutes while I looked down at the lot that he had left me.

I hadn't been lying—clean clothes really _would_ be nice. But surely he had noticed our size difference. Doubtfully, I picked out the shirt, a dark brown with a brand name plastered on the front, and held it up. Sure enough, the bottom fell down past mid-thigh, almost to my knees. On me, it would be more a nightgown than a shirt. But it was soft and it smelled good and oh god it was _clean_, so I shucked off my filthy jacket and shirt and pulled it on. He had also found me a pair of shorts—no doubt his smallest pair, but still several sizes too large. Luckily, it had a drawstring, and I fumbled around with it enough to get it so it would stay put.

And then suddenly I was sitting there, on the edge of Terrence's bed, wearing Terrence's clothes and feeling distinctly awkward. Uneasy. Maybe a little warm. From embarrassment? Maybe. I certainly hadn't remembered the room being this warm earlier. But then, it was most likely all this fabric I was wearing. And the fact that there was no air conditioning. I stood up the open the window before turning to the bed and pulling down the covers. Oh good lord, sleeping in a bed again would be _so nice_.

"Terrence?"

The door was nudged open. He poked his head in to check that I was dressed before shouldering his way in. His eyes filled with kind laughter at seeing me in such large clothing.

I rolled my eyes and punched him lightly on the arm before slipping under the covers. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a little on the small side. First thing tomorrow, we'll just have to find me some new clothes, okay?"

He nodded and crawled into the space next to me. I pulled the blankets up over the both of us and settled back into the pillows. His bed was so soft. I hadn't really noticed it earlier. It was like sleeping on a cloud.

I took a deep breath, catching a strong whiff of the scent I had smelled when I had come out of my stupor. It was all around me now, mixed ever with the more familiar smell of dirt and blood.

A moment passed before Terrence moved closer to me, slipping an arm over and around me and resting his chin on my head. I turned to him and slid my arm around his side, listening to his steady breathing, knowing that he was still smiling even though I couldn't see his face. And for the first time, all thought of the outside world disappeared. I forgot about the Infection. I forgot about the past. I forgot about my pain and my losses, my struggles and my insanity. My damning thoughts left me alone. My inner voice went to rest. For that night, I was just a girl. A woman. Sharing my life with someone I was beginning to love.

I wanted this to last forever. I wanted moments like this to fill the rest of my life, however long it would be.

But the next morning, life brought us a painful reminder of the reality and the insanity that would never truly leave us alone.

Because the next morning, as the sun rose high into the sky and the new day began, I didn't wake up.


	13. The Cost

**Chapter Twelve**

The Cost

Tears streamed down my face. I ran through the backdoor of the house on stubby legs, screaming and crying loudly enough that my mother met me before I had gotten two steps.

"Eden, honey, what is it?"

"Doggy bite me!" I sobbed, waving around the bleeding arm clutched shakily with my free hand, as if trying to keep it from falling off the rest of my body. Blood droplets from the bite mark on my forearm flung through the air, splattering on the kitchen floor that my mother tirelessly worked to keep clean every day.

My mother's face drained of color. She fell to her knees in front of me, cupping my cheek with one hand to wipe the tears and grasping the shoulder of my uninjured arm in a painful grip with her other. Her dark, beautiful Japanese eyes were wide and frightened.

"Doggy? What doggy?"

"Doggy at fence! Bad doggy!"

Through my tears, I saw my father come up behind her from the living room, drawn out from his nap by my sobs and my mother's loud frantic voice, usually so quiet and controlled.

"What's this about a doggy?"

Mother scooped me up in her arms and ran through the house towards the garage door. I clutched at her neck and continued sobbing, not caring where we were going or the fact that my blood was staining her yellow dress, because my mother was hugging me, and that was more than enough for right then. Even though I was still scared and my arm hurt so badly.

"Grab the keys, Alex! We need to get her to the doctor!"

I didn't know what rabies was back then. I was too young to know. But not too young to get infected by it.

A gentle warmth pressed against my cheek. I turned away from it instinctively, my skin too hot to stand being that near to another heat source. It felt like I was on fire.

"Doctor? What? Why? What's going on?"

"She's been bit by a dog…there's been those reports of rabies…we'll have to, just to be on the safe side…"

A soft whimper escaped my throat, but it ended abruptly. It hurt too much to make any further sound. It was like my throat had been scrubbed raw with sandpaper and then had acid poured down it.

_…funny how that works. _

"Well, that should do it," said the tall man in the white coat. The clinic was white, all white, bathed in bright lights and antiseptic smells and the occasional cries of unhappy children or the laughter of joking adults. Over the past little while, my parents and I had been there more times than I liked. Especially since each visit had resulted in being poked by needles. The man patted me on the head, although I felt fairly resentful towards him by now. Whenever he was around, the needles always followed. And I did not like the needles.

"That was the last shot for the treatment. She should be just fine now, although she'll still have a few scars to show for it. Just keep a close eye on her and bring her around for check ups, but I wouldn't be too worried—we caught it early enough."

"Thank you, Doctor Alsup," said my mother in a relieved voice that had not entirely lost its strained tone over the past month. She stood and picked me up, letting me wrap my arms around her neck and stare moodily around the small room. Although my mood certainly took an upturn for the better when the man handed me a lollipop. "We were so worried…especially when the testing came back positive on that dog…"

"The owners have put it down, haven't they?"

"Yes, they did so immediately. They have grandchildren who come to visit them often, you know, so they understood…"

Dogs. Dogs growl right before they bite. Usually. Biting hurts. Hurts so bad…rips through the flesh…tears…blood…

I was scared of dogs for a few years after that. They were often in my nightmares, a mental scar that did not fade as well as the physical one had.

I thought I heard a whimpering, sorrowful and anxious. It was familiar. Comforting. It sounded like a dog. Yeah, like a dog.

"She may be a little scared of dogs from now on, which is to be expected. I would suggest encouraging her to cope with her fears—otherwise, she may have nightmares for quite some time to come."

Nightmares. Yeah. I had those. I can only remember those nightmares. Things didn't bother me much after that. But…dark nights of waking up sobbing, screaming for my mother as flashing teeth covered in drool and dark eyes filled with insanity lunged through the shadows.

"It's been known to happen. I know a veterinarian who would be more than willing to help out. She has had experience in these sorts of things…"

The whimpering faded.

"You got bit by a dog? Really? Whoa."

…Why…when did I start liking them again…?

"Don't worry. He won't bite you sweetie. Just reach out nice and easy, okay?"

I stretched out a shaking hand towards the beagle, the other arm with the still visible scars of my last encounter with a canine pressed to my chest. The dog turned its snout lazily towards my hand, sniffing, and I withdrew, tears building up in my eyes.

The woman crouching down next to me smiled and reached out her own slender, more mature hand to scratch the creature behind his floppy ears. He keeled over on his side, his tongue lolling out and his tail wagging happily. It was like that was the best thing to happen to him in the world. _Ever_. I sniffed, feeling a small smile spread on my face in spite of my lingering fear.

"Not all dogs are mean," the lady told me. "Some are, though, so you'll have to be careful. You'll have to know what to look for. But you can't let that stop you from liking them, okay?"

I nodded, frowning, but somehow I worked up the courage to stretch out my trembling hand once again. And once again, the black twitching nose turned in my direction to investigate. I cringed as the cold, wet surface brushed against my fingertips, but I bit my lip hard and closed my eyes, leaning forward slowly, slowly, until…

His coat was soft and warm. My fingers brushed against it, convulsing back once I realized what exactly it was I was touching, before gingerly stretching out and giving a small, frightened little scratch.

In response, something rough and wet swept across my forearm. I jerked back, eyes flashing open to see the lovable, carefree brown eyes looking up at me in unfailing kindness and trust, his big slobbery tongue hanging out and pulling up and down as he panted.

My wavering smile steadied. I reached out and tried again.

_I remember that beagle. I wanted a dog just like him afterwards. Bothered my parents about it day and night. But my mother refused. She was still scared…_

Something was pulling at me, at my arms, my back. I felt myself being lifted and turned by powerful, gentle hands. I tried to open my eyes, but it was impossible. Like trying to lift a house with a spoon. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but I started coughing, my entire body heaving, my throat painful and burning.

…So silly, being scared of something that won't always hurt you.

Disjointed images swirled through my mind like a quiet, peaceful river. I floated on it for hours, viewing my life. My dreams. My fears. I wasn't too sure what was going on, but it didn't seem to be something I needed to worry about. What was there to worry about anyway?

"Leave him alone!" I screamed at the boys. They were older than me. In middle school, probably. The dog they had been tormenting struggled against the ropes tied around his legs and mouth. He whimpered, his wide, sorrowful eyes staring around in innocent confusion.

I was angry. So very angry. I felt like my small body couldn't contain it.

There was the dog…and the boys…I had come across them in a back alleyway while walking home from school. My brothers had gone ahead. It was a warm day. Autumn probably. One of the last warm days before winter began to set in.

The boys said something. Not quite old enough to know to respect girls. Especially little girls. It was a mean something. Had to be…

Flailing arms, yells, screams. Blood as I scratched and bit and punched. Some of the boys ran off. Some of them retaliated. But I held my own pretty well. I was smaller. Faster. I'd grown up with brothers. I knew how to fight. And I was angry. Furious. My fury fueled me. Enlivened me.

God, it felt so good.

But then…pain. A black eye? A cut lip? My parents weren't happy.

But I felt great.

Much more powerful arms held me, cradled me. Even though my body was riddled with aches and pains, even though I felt like I was burning up in a furnace, I felt comfortable. Safe.

Swings. A playground. Children laughing, and one girl, short, brown hair, about my age. I'd known her for…all my life, hadn't I? Yeah, she was my neighbor.

Wait. Swings.

Hmm…high school? Oh, no, too young. Not there yet. Elementary school…

"I'm gonna live in the city when I grow up," I announced, swinging the stick I was holding back and forth like a katana blade. I had seen one at my grandfather's house when we had visited Japan earlier that summer, and I had become obsessed with it ever since. I pretended I was one of those warriors from my brothers' favorite television shows, fighting the bad guys. I liked to think that the faded scars on my arm were wounds from one of my many battles. "I'm gonna go to college. My mom says I can go to college and be whatever I want."

My friend looked at me with wide eyes. She sat on the swing, lazily rocking back and forth. "What do you want to be?"

I pirouetted in the sand and swung, dispatching an imaginary foe that had been trying to sneak up behind me. "I'm gonna be a policeman. Like my dad."

A policeman? No…that's not right…my major is in…in…huh…you know, I don't think I ever decided on one when I came to school. It didn't matter. I just wanted to get away. I saw what the world had to hold when we visited grandpa…it was a wide world, filled with wonder and freedom and wonderful things…and I wanted it for myself.

"My daddy says that's dangerous. He said policemen die! I saw it on the TV."

I scoffed. "Nuh-uh. I'm a girl, silly. You can't kill girls." I swung again and then turned to my best friend and grinned. "Besides, I can't die."

"Why not?"

"Because," I said, holding up my make believe sword with one hand and placing the knuckles of my other hand on my hips, "the good guy never dies!"

The good guy never dies. The good guy always gets the girl. The bad guy always gets what's coming to him. Life is divided into good and bad.

Life is full of happy endings.

"Plus I'm a girl. You can't hurt girls."

"That's what they told you, is it, little Eden? Is that why you usually played with the boys during recess? Is that why you fight back when they pick on you because you're short? Asian? Different? What a pathetic town. So small and narrow-minded. But you showed them in the end. You'll show them still."

What would my brothers think if they saw me now? Hell, I bet it would surprise them. Or maybe it wouldn't. Jericho wouldn't be surprised. I could one-up him in a fight half the time. I bet they'd all be proud, though. Pleased that they taught me how to take care of myself before going off to college shortly after I entered high school.

Oh, I remember! I was working on my generals. I figured I'd just get myself through the first semester of college. See what options were available. Pretty good plan. I'm young, fresh out of high school. I have my whole life ahead of me.

"I remember my first year of college," said Charlie. We sat on our sleeping bags by the safe house door, resting after a painful, busy day of fighting and running and trying to find food and supplies to keep us going. The others were fast asleep, but Charlie and I were awake, huddled around the dim light of a small battery-powered lantern, keeping watch. "I remember thinking, 'Hey, I can take my time. I have my whole life ahead of me.' And then I got to the other side of twenty-five and I realized that I was already a quarter of a century old with nothing to show for it but a piece of paper and a pretty pay check. Scared the hell out of me."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh please, you're not _that_ old. You're like only a decade older than I am."

He feigned looking offended. "Somehow, you make me feel even older when you word it that way."

One of the sleeping forms behind us stirred. We paused our conversation and glanced over. But Alicia simply turned over onto her front and settled, cuddled up in her sleeping bag tucked in between the professor and Akamu for warmth. The nights were getting cold now that we were drawing close into autumn, and it didn't help that this year was colder than previous ones. Or maybe it was just the emptiness of the city that made it seem that way.

"Think we're going to make it?" asked Charlie, his voice quiet, all traces of his joking tone gone. He tried to make the question sound casual, but I could hear the fear edging his voice. I saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

I grinned and punched him in the shoulder. "'Course we will. Just think of this as a movie and the zombies as the bad guys and us as the good guys. And the good guys don't die, right?"

"Well, _usually_. I seem to remember a few unhappy scenes in _Star Wars_ where all the good guys were shot down like flies shortly before the bad guys took over the galaxy."

"Okay, fine, _usually_," I said, shaking my head in playful exasperation. But I noted that there was still a worried tint to the man's expression. "Hey, relax. We'll make it. If anyone can survive a zombie apocalypse, who better than a bunch of college students with guns?"

He grinned then and I saw his fear and his anxiety relax and ease up. He was back to being Charlie again. For now. The fear would come again. He never voiced it to the others, though. Only to me in these rare moments of calm and quiet. "Well, you have a point there. And I don't mean just on your katana blade."

God, that man loved puns. And geeky cultural references. He was pretty cool, though. They all were. All four of them. In their own ways.

"Get some sleep," I ordered, stretching out. The professor had awoken and come over to us, his expression blank and empty as always. He didn't say anything, but we knew what was up—he was ready to take over the watch for one of us. Barely a week into the apocalypse and we had already settled into predictable routines.

"_You_ get some sleep," argued Charlie.

"I'm younger. I don't need sleep. Old people need sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Like hell you aren't. You've been yawning all night. So get over there before I poke you with my sharp, pointy stick."

He eyed the weapon lying at my side, as if debating on the probability of my willingness to use it against him, before grudgingly standing up and retreating to the empty sleeping spot besides Alicia. "Fine. Next time it's your turn, though, so don't forget it."

Professor Horatio set his sleeping bag into the newly vacated spot across from me and sat down. Charlie settled down into his respective spot, trying to hide a yawn. I rested my head back against the wall I was leaning on and watched the computer engineer. In a relatively short time his breathing had slowed and steadied and the room was filled with his quiet snores.

I snorted an amused laugh to myself. Yeah, "not tired." Right.

"Did you get enough sleep?" I asked, turning my attention to the professor.

The hollow eyes stared at the dim light in front of us. He nodded.

I stretched a leg out in front of me, sighing, and settled into the quiet of the safe house. I studied the professor's drawn, pale face. The dark half-circles under his eyes. The lines on his forehead above the sharp brow line. He was in his late thirties. Kind of young for a professor, I guess, but he was the oldest one in our group.

He didn't talk much, though. The outbreak had brought a part of me to life, but for the professor, it had done the exact opposite.

I wanted to say something. Something reassuring. But that was Akamu's area of expertise. So we sat there in silence.

Silence.

The city is always silent now. The Infected are dying off. The ones that aren't able to keep themselves alive, anyway. They need to feed. Sustenance. They aren't dead bodies. They're living. Breathing. But only the smart ones find what they need. The different ones.

There! Movement! In the high shadows of the building, framed against the darkness. I draw up my blood-covered stick and level it. It glints in the moonlight, and I watch as the thing from the high shadows drops down to the ground in front of me, crouched on all fours. Even in the darkness I see the feral face, the scarred lips drawn back to reveal crimson teeth. The eyes are a bright reflective yellow that stare me down, that watch me carefully, waiting to see what I will do or say. Looking for…something. A memory? A feeling. A reminder of the life it had once had.

Well that's silly. It's just a Hunter. They're not human after all.

Fire. Everywhere. Pain. Burning. Confusion? No. Fear.

God, I felt so sick.

"What the hell were you _thinking_?"

We had made it to the next roof over by laying several thick wooden boards across a wide gap between buildings. As soon as the last of us had gone across we had pulled away the boards, dislodging the raving Infected that attempted to follow. We were on the other side of the roof from them now, listening as the remaining Infected screamed and tried to come after us, only to fall with sickening thuds to the concrete below, too weak and too blind to realize that they could not reach the next building without careful thought.

But they didn't think. That was the problem. _Their_ problem.

Charlie was standing over me, his chest heaving from the exertion of fighting and running and lifting that he had just endured. He looked furious. Frustrated. Scared. Of me?

Of course. It was usually directed at me.

Why? Because I was trying to save our lives? Because I was doing my best to make sure they survived?

Reckless. Suicidal.

Eden, one day, your luck is going to run out.

"I was thinking I'd hold them off as long as I could to give everyone a chance," I retorted, standing up to him as well as I could when he was almost two feet taller than I was. But I had stood up to boys before. I'd been doing it all my life. I couldn't understand what he was so worried about, though. The only one in real danger had been me, and I could handle myself.

"You could have been killed!"

"We all could be killed," I said, my voice low and steady and calm. I knew that frustrated him anymore. "Every minute of every day we stay in this city we could be killed. I know what I'm doing, Charlie."

I thought I knew what I was doing. I believed I did.

You have to believe.

But I can't. I can't anymore. Look at how much I've failed. See the horrors I've done, the people I've hurt. This world has gone to _hell_. It's gone straight down to hell, and I'm helping it along.

"Anne?" I called, shouldering the partially ajar door further open. I was greeted by the nearly overwhelming smell of blood. The gurgling of a dying person. The loud, wild, feral growl ripped from the same throat that had laughed and joked with me mere hours earlier.

In front of me was my friend, standing over the mutilated body of her roommate. Blood covered her hands. Face. Clothes. Her eyes were wide, bulging. Her body was twisted and twitching, like a dying insect.

Horrifying.

She charged at me.

I rose my katana, the gift from my grandfather that I had never intended to use.

What else could I have done?

What did this happen? Why is this happening?

I didn't want to. If I had had any other choice…

"You should go to the dance."

I rolled my eyes and stuffed the remnants of the cookie I was holding into my mouth. Chewed. Bought myself some time to compose the answer I needed. Swallowed. "Mother, I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions. Besides, dances are boring, and the boys at school are either my friends or complete idiots. It would feel weird bringing one of my friends to a dance. A _formal_ dance. I'd have to wear a _dress_ and everything. Besides, the state track meet is coming up. It's like the weekend after that. I've gotta focus. I'm going to be the fastest freshman out there."

"Not all boys who aren't your friends are idiots, you know," my mother said, smiling. But it was a tired smile. She reached out and stroked the side of my face, brushing past a stray strand of black, silky hair. "You should give them a chance."

I rolled my eyes again, completely unbelieving that my mother wanted to talk about boys when I had something more important to worry about. Like winning first in state. Still though, there was one boy…a cute soccer player who sat two desks behind me in English. He was a year older, though, and I had never really talked with him before.

I found out eventually that lots of boys thought I was pretty. But I guess they were too intimidated by me. After all, they had known me my entire life. They knew what I was like. Well, they sort of knew. No one knew what I as really like. Not until...

"I'll have _plenty _of time for boys when I'm in _college_."

I couldn't date any of the boys in that town. True, most of them went to the cities to go to university after graduating, but some of them stayed there. They went to the local college. I didn't want to take the chance of getting tied down to that place. I wanted to be free. Oh god, I just wanted to live.

I want to live.

I want to _live_.

Claws outstretched, the Infected landed heavily on my stomach, driving the air from my lungs as if it had been a car dropped on me. Vision spinning, body gasped automatically, even as the creature started to rip me apart. The clothing and skin at my abdomen ripped and tore, and pain shot through my body, only to be numbed by the adrenaline and a tidal wave of emotions.

I knew I should have felt terrified. I should have been too terrified to move. My defensive instincts and self-preservation should have reduced me to trying to defend myself from the brutal claws. But I wasn't scared. That feeling had been driven aside. In its place was a hate that ran deep to my core and a fury that rivaled my earlier feelings of appalling exhilaration.

No, I sure as hell wasn't going to die like this. Not without a fight.

"Go to hell!" I screamed, lashing out in defense, the blood pounding in my ears, my mind wiped blank by my own will to survive. I bit and swung and struggled with staggering energy and strength. This creature may have been stronger, faster, and several times larger, but it didn't matter.

The claws tore into me. Ripped. I felt like I was dying. I was so exhausted, so tired. My body was on fire. My throat was unbearable. Tears streamed down my face unchecked. Hot. Painful.

No. No dying. I refuse to die here.

I want to _live_.

"I hate them," Alicia muttered.

I looked at her from across the dying lantern. A week and a half had gone pass. Had it only been a week and a half? No. It had to be a lifetime. "Hate who?"

"Them," she whispered, her wet eyes wide and focused on the lantern. "The Infected. The zombies. Those _monsters_."

This girl had irritated me for the first little while. She reminded me too much of the girls in my hometown, the ones who were so content in living meaningless, textbook lives. They shied away from the thought of getting dirty, of having fun, of getting into a good-natured fight. They stood in groups in their designer clothes and heckled anyone who wasn't like them.

They didn't do that to me much, though, once we got out of elementary school and I made a name for myself. I was too cool for them by then. Plus I was a friend to most of the guys in high school. Most of the guys who would end up their boyfriends.

Maybe I was just jealous.

…Nah.

I sighed. "You know…I think I hate them too."

She looked up at me, her eyes wide now with surprise more so than fear. "You 'think' you hate them?"

"Well…I guess I never really thought about it," I said. "Although…I think I hate whoever caused this more than I hate the zombies."

I could tell by the shock on her face that she had never really considered the cause of the outbreak. It hadn't occurred to her that someone could be behind the reason for it.

Actually, it hadn't really occurred to me until then, too.

I didn't like that distressed look on her face. It frustrated me. I wanted it to go away. So I gave her a confident smile. "Tell me about your mother."

Again, she looked surprised. Almost stunned. "Really?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. Sure. Not like we have much else to talk about."

She nodded, and I saw the fear somewhat fade from her gaze.

Mom?

Yeah. Mother.

I remember her. She smelled like flowers and bread and home.

"I love you mom," I mouthed into the stillness of the deserted building without realizing that I was doing so. "I miss you so much. I wish you could see me, what I've become. I've survived. I've helped others survive. I think you'd be proud. I hope you would be. I wish you could see…"

But mother isn't here. Mother is gone. I'm trapped in a city overrun with monsters like the ones that used to haunt my nightmares all those years ago.

I hate those monsters too, Alicia.

Hate. I hate them. Fury. Anger. Mindlessness. Kill. Kill. _Kill_. Rip. Bite.

Blood.

Blood?

My arm. My arm hurts. Something bit me. But it was a blurry feeling. Faded. Like…a memory.

"Bad doggy," I sobbed, clutching the back of my mother's yellow shirt.

No. No, they aren't all bad.

"Not all dogs are mean," she told me. "Some are, though, so you'll have to be careful. You'll have to know what to look for. But you can't let that stop you from liking them, okay?"

Not all of them are bad.

Right. Terrence. Terrence isn't bad.

Through the chaos swirling in my brain, surrounding my consciousness, through the rising insanity and plague fighting for control in my thoughts, I felt a small break. A small shred of sanity, of reality. I clung to it, grasping at it with small, stubby fingers and tiny brown arms.

Yeah. I remember now.

I pushed forward through the disordered darkness, feeling my way with gradually growing confidence.

I remember everything. All the good. All the bad.

I remember who I am now. Who I was.

I remember.


	14. The Girl

**Chapter Thirteen**

The Girl

The sun shone down on my skin, bright and warm and lovely in the humid late morning air. I heaved a deep, calming breath that filled me with the warmth, like a hot cup of drink on a cold winter's day. God, this was so wonderful. So peaceful. The sound of the waves crashing against an unmoving surface filled my ears, my senses, in a reassuring, steady beat that my heart slowed to match. My mind settled, drifting, carried away by the knowledge that I had no responsibilities to attend to, no one who was depending on me, no reason to get up from where I laid, soaking in the sun and the rare moment of private freedom.

"Are you going to just lie there forever?"

I cracked open my eyes at the voice. A familiar, smiling girl's face looked down at me. I frowned. "If you leave me alone, then I very well would like to do so."

She laughed and poked me right on the tip of my nose. My frown deepened into a scowl and I waved my hand at her.

"Come on, you," she said, unperturbed by my asocial expression and attitude. "We need to talk."

The face disappeared and I found myself staring up at an empty, clear blue sky. I sighed, seriously considering just ignoring the girl and laying there until the sun set or the tide came in and washed me away off to sea. What gave her the right to interrupt me, anyway? Couldn't she see I was busy? Well, not busy perhaps, but comfortably occupied?

"Come on, Eden!"

Oh great, she knew my name. There went the hope she had the wrong person. I sighed again and sat up, rubbing my sun-warmed face to wake myself before pushing up into a standing position and looking around.

I was on a narrow brown stone path that stretched for a kilometer in front of me. It started at a large, concrete structure and ended at the white sandy beaches of a small tropical island. It was an island in the Philippines that my grandmother had purchased part of several decades ago with the intent of retiring there with my grandfather. My family and I had come there to visit for the summer as we sometimes did when we saw the money.

It was a long way away from home.

About halfway along the path was a raised, open-air outpost with a thatched roof where I saw the girl waiting for me on one of the concrete benches. All around, everywhere, was nothing but crystal clear water that sparkled and sung in the sun as it crashed against the stone. When the tide came in, the brown path would be covered with the water and the two structures would be the only part of it to remain above the waterline. Which would be soon. I could tell by the fact that the water was currently only a few inches away from wetting my feet.

"Come on!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I muttered, even though I knew she couldn't hear me from this distance. I started towards her on the path, my bare feet padding across the warm stone. "Honestly, would it kill you to wait a little bit?"

When I reached her, she patted the empty concrete next to her and I grudgingly sat, leaning back on my arms and stretching my bare legs out in the sun. "All right, what did you want to talk about?"

She clapped her hands together and grinned at me. "I want to talk about _you_!"

I looked at her, raising a delicate eyebrow disbelievingly. "Interesting subject choice."

"Yes, I thought so."

I waited for more, a question or something, but when she just sat there grinning that big dopey grin, I sighed and rested my head to the side on my shoulder, still scowling. "Well?"

"Well."

Okay, seriously annoying. What was this, a game to her? Irritated, I eyed the girl next to me, trying to place where I had seen her familiar face before as that might explain her strange behavior. She had long black hair and black eyes that were warm but somewhat distant. It reminded me of the look Professor Horatio had almost every moment of every day.

I frowned. Professor Horatio?

The girl smiled, as if she heard the name. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. "How do you like it here?"

I hesitated before answering, trying to see any reason not to reply. "It's…okay." That was an understatement. It was wonderful. I never wanted to leave.

She seemed to realize that fact, as that obnoxious, knowing smile seemed to widen even more. Her gaze turned to survey the ocean. "It's certainly a peaceful place. Makes you feel like you're far away from everything else in the world. Like nothing can touch you. Like nothing else matters."

"Is there a point to this?"

She laughed. "What's the hurry? Is there somewhere you need to go?"

Scowling, I wracked my brain for just that type of excuse. Well, my parents were probably on the island back at the summerhouse with my grandparents. Judging by the position of the sun, it wasn't quite lunchtime or dinnertime yet, so they probably wouldn't be expecting me back for a while. As for my brothers, they were most likely causing chaos somewhere. I often escaped their presence by coming here when I wanted a few moments to myself.

Well, the summerhouse was quite a long walk in this heat, and I didn't quite feel like going back to play with my brothers right then. Which meant I either had to invent an excuse or finish up the conversation and send this girl on her way.

Before I could open my mouth to speak, she continued talking, leaving her questions unanswered.

I had a feeling she hadn't expected me to answer them in the first place.

"You know, the Infection will probably never make it here. I can't really see zombies in a tropical paradise, can you?"

I stared at the girl blankly and somewhat warily.

Infection? Zombies?

What a strange statement. Was this a trick set up by my brothers to annoy me? It sort of seemed like something Jericho would do. "Uh…yeah. I mean, no. Zombies on the beach. Not exactly a normal image."

She winked at me. "But then, what's really normal, anyway?"

I continued to stare. What was wrong with this girl? Who the hell did she think she was, interrupting my peaceful alone time to talk about crazy things like zombies? She didn't look like she lived here, although she may have been able to pass. Those black eyes…black hair…the pale brown skin and round narrow face that held a hint of both Asian and American descent. And that voice. It wasn't an accent from around here. And it was so strong and light, a soprano's ring to its tone. It sounded…so familiar. Like I had heard it many times, perhaps in a dream. In my mind?

Black hair…

I ran my fingers through my own black hair, suddenly anxious although I wasn't too certain why. My black eyes flickered up and down her somewhat abnormally small form. Well, abnormal for most of the rest of the world where I usually lived, but fairly usual for me. I had a feeling that if we stood up and compared to each other, we would probably be the same height.

"The Infection reset everything that was normal. The only things that are normal now are the things that you want to consider normal. But isn't that how it's always been?" She was looking up at the sky now, watching it as if it was a mildly interesting form of entertainment.

The Infection.

What…?

Oh.

No. No…

That was…real?

What?

The pressure in my skull built, throbbed. A soft, gentle breeze picked up, its kind fingers playing with her long, flowing black hair. My own long black hair moved in similar motion as it cascaded down my back.

She looked…she looked so familiar.

Like…like me.

Me?

Before the Infection.

Yes…that's…that's right.

The Infection. Professor Horatio. Zombies…

I…I can't…

Terrence?

And then the pressure in my mind spiked and…I remembered.

Just like that, everything changed.

I stared at the girl beside me with fresh eyes, wondering with a jolt why I had not noticed the striking similarities before. "You're…you're me."

She turned her dark eyes to me in surprise. "Of course. Who else would I be?"

I gaped at her for a few moments, at the face and form and voice that I had never truly seen or heard in this context. Then I glanced around us wildly, at the white sandy beach, the crystal clear water, the startling blue-sky overhead…and then I noticed it. There were no other people. No fishermen tending their nets. No boats in the distance. No birds calling in the sky. No crabs skittering through the waters and up onto the dry surface. There was nothing but our steady breathing and the gentle crashing of waves against the small structure we sat on.

"Where are we? Where am…_I_?"

She smiled and turned her face up into the sun and spoke with the voice that was a perfect copy of my own in everything but emotion. "We are in the one place in the world where you have felt the most free."

"But…but this is all in my mind, isn't it?"

"Perhaps."

I shook my head and buried my face in my hands. "God, I knew I was going insane."

The girl who was me laughed and patted me on the back. "You're trapped in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. A little more harmless insanity here and there is nothing."

I wasn't too sure what to say to that. I looked at her sidelong, my face contorted in confusion and concentration as I attempted to make sense of everything. Of _her_. Of me. Meanwhile, the memories I had forgotten swirled in the far reaches of my mind, as if desiring to remain unnoticed for the time being. Which was fine, because I had enough on my mind as was. "Who are you? Who are you _really_? Okay, so you're me, but…why are you…you know, separate from me? Why are we sitting here talking? I know we're in my brain, and that the brain does stupid things sometimes, especially mine…"

The girl smiled again, but this time I thought the expression behind it was a little sad. It made me sad, too, even though I had no idea why she was sad in the first place. "I'm that little voice inside your head, the one that has been arguing with you about Terrence every step of the way. Among other things."

I frowned. "What?"

She sighed and sat up, leaning over and turning her head to look at me almost playfully. Her long, loose hair hung around her face like a dark silky curtain that glowed in the sunlight. Was that how my hair looked, or was this just part of my imagination like the rest of this?

"Everyone has a little voice inside their heads, although whether or not they can hear it and how well they can hear it is a different story. I've always been inside you, but when the Infection hit the city and this whole mess started, you began to rely on me a little more than normal in order to get your sanity through the day. Not too much to be noticeable, but it was enough to bring me to the surface, enough to give me a bit of a life of my own. However…when you were separated from the other survivors…when you became alone, with no one else to talk to except a man struggling to retain his humanity, you began to depend on me more and more."

A slight frown of concentration tugged at the corner of my lips. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear anymore of this, but the sun no longer felt warm against my skin. It seemed empty. Fake. And I could see no way out of this bizarre illusion of a memory. It was either sit and sulk in confusion, or try to figure out what the hell was going on. Then maybe I would sulk. "Go on."

"You have always been surrounded by people. You have always had someone to talk to, even if you did not want to, as was often the case." She smiled at me kindly. "But then you found yourself without that. There was no one to talk to who could talk back, who could give you feedback and tell you if your own thoughts were insane or not, right when you wanted and needed someone—anyone—the most. In the end, even though you did not realize it consciously, you began talking to yourself. To me. As if I was my own person. Eventually, in your mind, I became a separate entity, the devil's advocate to your thoughts. I took on a voice and a tone and an opinion of my own that was an opposite of your current opinion so I could provide you with the feedback that you desperately wanted. I became the someone you could talk to about everything…mostly about Terrence, because you seem to realize, subconsciously I believe, that he is the one thing in your life right now that will either damn you or save you, depending on the decisions you make with him and how you deal with the consequences. They were pretty big decisions to be making on your own, you see, and you needed a little help."

"So…so what," I said, struggling to comprehend this new level of my insanity. "I'm developing multiple personalities?"

She laughed, and it was a light, pleasant laugh that held no confusion, no fear, no hidden meanings. I couldn't resist a smile in response. "No, no, of course not. It hasn't reached that point yet, nor do I think it ever will. When you leave this place, I will go back to being the simple, quiet voice inside your head, just quite a bit less prominent than I was before. I don't think you'll need me as much anymore. The only reason I am here in this form right now, in this context, is to help you make sense of everything going on. You've put quite a bit of confusion on yourself in a short frame of time, you see. And you've put off making sense of it all for too long."

I said nothing. There didn't seem to be anything I could say. What are you supposed to say to your own inner voice while sitting in an illusion in your head? Instead, I stared down at the brilliant crystal clear water, watching the seaweed flow back and forth to the movement of the current. The tide was coming in now, covering the brown path. It would soon reach our dangling feet.

This place seemed so real…how could this be in my head?

When I at last spoke, my voice was quiet, fearful. "And what exactly _is_ going on?"

I felt her eyes on me, and I felt the sadness in her smile once again. "What do you think is going on?"

"I think…" I raised my eyes and stared off into the distant horizon, a thin line of where the never-ending ocean met the equally eternal sky. But I was not thinking of the sky or the ocean. "I think I'm dying."

She said nothing for the longest time. At last, impatient in waiting for the answer I was not sure I wanted, I grabbed her arm. She turned those cool, sad eyes onto me, so familiar and yet so strange to see in this way. "_Am_ I dying?"

"Maybe."

My upper lip pulled back in a menacing snarl. "What do you mean 'maybe?' It's a yes or no question! Is it…is it the Infection?"

She shrugged, as if to give yet another ambiguous word for reply. "Your mind is fighting right now. It shoved you away to this place so you would not be harmed."

"Fighting? Against what? The…Infection?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Perhaps." She looked at me. "Or perhaps it is fighting against the choices you have made."

I hesitated, considering, and then swallowed. "You mean…about Terrence?"

"I really don't know." She smiled and held her hands up in a position of complete, innocent confusion. "We're both stuck here, you know. I only know as much as you do right now. I'm just putting it all into words."

"Great. Loads of help you are, then," I muttered, but I let go of her and hunched over, wrapping my arms around me.

"Well, if you prefer, I'm sure there's a way to send us back to the mess of memories and thoughts our brain was cooking up earlier."

"No thanks, I'd rather…" I paused. "What was that all about, anyway?"

"Oh, your mind needs to remember who it is before it can decide what it will become. If it will become anything different or…remain the same."

This made little sense to me, even less sense than the entire crazy situation. I knew who I was. Certainly my mind knew the same. But then…the Infection did something to the brain. It changed the mind. Normally, anyway. In Terrence's case…

I didn't want to think about it. I couldn't. For all I knew, if I really was fighting the Infection, this could be the last time I was truly myself, truly…human. That was something I just couldn't take thinking about. I shot a glare at the girl. "This…doesn't feel like dying."

"Do you know what it feels like to die?"

"Well…no, obviously, I've never really died before, duh. It's usually a one time thing…"

"Then maybe you aren't dying. Do you want to die?"

I growled at her, my eyes narrowed. "Of course I don't."

"Then don't," she said simply.

I glared at her for a few moments more as if expecting her to say that she was joking, because I was certainly not in the mood for humor. However, when she showed no sign of humor in her expression, I glared down at my knees. "This isn't making any sense."

"No, it probably isn't."

"Well, let me get things straight, then," I said, holding my hands out in front of me as if to grab a hold of the concept the moment it became visible. "We're in my head, correct?"

I waited until the girl nodded. "Yes."

"And you're a part of me, sort of like my conscience?"

"I suppose you could put it that way…"

"And you don't know anything more than I know."

"Pretty much."

"So you're just here to voice my thoughts?"

The girl laughed. "I am here so you have someone to talk this over with. As you very well know, if left to your own devices, you tend to overthink things."

I eyed her up and down. "You've been arguing with me about Terrence."

"Yes, that's right."

"Why don't you like him? Is there something wrong with him that you can see but I can't? Is there…"

"Oh Eden, there you go again, second-guessing yourself," sighed the girl. "I told you—I am your devil's advocate. I will always be the other side of your opinion, whether I am right and you are wrong, you are right and I am wrong, or we are both sadly misguided. It doesn't matter what I say—what either of us says. What matters is what you decide for yourself in the end. I'm just here to help you make sure that your decision is the one you truly want to make."

I was still confused, but I had a vague feeling that any further explanations would only confuse me further. It was a struggle to think here, surrounded as I was by such a clear reminder of the state of my mind and my life.

God, I was so crazy.

"You're not crazy," said the girl. "Not as crazy as you think you are. After all you've been through, all you've done…after meeting someone like Terrence after everything that has happened…you're just confused. That's all."

"Well, this certainly isn't helping my case," I muttered.

"No, it might not."

I bit my lip and stared down at my hands resting on my lap. "Why can't everything just be so straightforward? Why does it have to be so screwed up? Why can't the Infected…why can't this life…why can't it be just simple black and white, cut and dry, good and bad? Do this and this will happen. Do that and that will happen. Simple. Why is this so…so confusing…I mean, it's just…"

I struggled with the words, fighting back tears of fear and sorrow and anger. "A month ago, I was just a freshman college student. I had my whole life ahead of me! I had everything I wanted…everything I needed…I was so happy, ready to live my life, just like I'd always dreamed. I might not have been perfect, I certainly wasn't, but I was still…I was still exactly where I needed to be. I was still _me_. And now…now I've killed so many people…sure, they were Infected, they were trying to kill me back, but they were still _people_. Each of them had a life, a family, a dream, and then they just…they just ended up like this. But it was alright, because they were Infected, you know? They were practically dead. There was nothing left in life for them but mindless violence and pain, and that's no way to live. And we had to survive, right? Someone has to. But then…then Terrence…"

I jumped to my feet and started pacing the small enclosure, waving wildly at the air and shouting and snarling at no one but myself, like an animal trapped in a cage. "Why is it so difficult for me to accept that he's different? Why is it that every time I see his face…or…or hear his voice, or feel him next to me, all I can think about is that he's Infected? And that I'm not? And that it scares the hell out of me just thinking about it? And he doesn't know…how could he…he just keeps acting so innocent and kind and caring, even when I put him through hell. Even though he's _been_ through hell. Why? _Why_ is he like that? Why can't he just understand?"

There was a brief beat of silence.

"Understand what?" my other self prompted, irritatingly calm.

"Understand that…that…well…you know!" I took a deep, shaking breath to try to calm my nerves. It didn't help. "Understand that…that every time he acts differently from the other Infected, it just messes me up even more! That it's just so damn difficult as is for me to keep sane without having him around, acting so…so _normal_. So _different_. And it's just…what future is there for us after all this? What's going to happen to us? What choice do we even have? I…"

"Why do you think Terrence loves you?"

Startled into silence, I stared at her, taken aback by the question, not only because of what it was asking but the way it was asked. "Well, because I…he…"

"Do you think any other human he encountered would react to him the same way you have? That any other human, even if they somehow managed to survive his first attack and spend time with him like you have, would care for him as much as you do, after fighting for weeks against other Infected?"

I shook my head.

"Don't you think that maybe, perhaps, that has occurred to him? And don't you think that perhaps that is why he loves you so much?"

There was a long stretch of silence. The sound of the waves no longer reached my ears. Maybe because I didn't want to hear them. Maybe because I couldn't because they were no longer there.

"He loves me…because I act differently from other humans? Just like he acts differently from other Infected."

"Perhaps. But if there's one thing you should know about yourself, it's that you are loyal to your friends, Eden. It is one of your strongest traits. Your best virtues. And maybe he sees that, too." She smiled brightly and stood. Just as I had thought earlier, we were the exact same height. But of course we were. We were the exact same person. "But like I said—I only know as much as you do. But we're a smart girl. I think we're right."

She faced out over the ocean, spreading her arms out wide. "And I think it's time to get going. Paradise doesn't last forever."

I glanced around. The sound of the waves had stopped, because the ocean was no longer really there. Nothing was really there. Not the island or the sky or the brown path covered with crystal water. Everywhere was just…blue. A gentle, pulsing blue that hovered around us like electricity.

Fear gripped at my throat. "What's going on?"

"Well, just a shot in the dark here, but I believe we are waking up. We're about to see whether our mind has won or lost. Interesting, isn't it?"

She was fading from my view now. Like a mirror fogged up with mist. I looked at her and I knew that my expression was desperate. "Wait. I need you ask you one more thing…about…about Terrence."

She turned those hauntingly familiar eyes onto mine and smiled, as if she already knew what I was going to ask. She was me, after all. "Yes?"

I hesitated for only a beat. "Am I making the right choice, being with him like…like this? Is it the right choice to…love him?"

The voice in my head smiled and shrugged, shaking her head not in disagreement or confirmation, but in the light, ambiguous way that told me she didn't have the definite answer. "Do you think you will regret it?"

My answer was immediate, despite the fact that it was becoming increasingly difficult to speak. "No."

"Then why would it be wrong?"

I frowned, uncertain if that was the answer I wanted or needed. But she was fading rapidly now. I started to feel heat all over my body, as if I was next to a fireplace that was gradually turning hotter. My throat felt sore and my voice was hoarse as I spoke again. "Is this going to make any more sense when I wake up, or am I going to be just as confused as I am now?"

"Honestly?" She paused. "You probably aren't going to remember much. Not at first, anyway."

With a small smile, she pointed to my forehead with a nearly invisible finger. "But it will always be up here for when you need it. Just like me."

She poked me in the nose again and grinned a last, fleeting grin. "And don't worry so much about the future. Hasn't being in this place taught you anything? Learn to enjoy what's _now_. While it lasts. You can worry about what happens next when you get there. It's not going to get here any faster."

I reached out to touch her, to grab a hold of the confidence and fearlessness and calm that I saw in her face and heard in her voice. But as my fingers brushed up against her shoulder, as I opened my mouth to speak, the blue around us turned to black, and I was forced to turn my attention in order to see what state my mind and body had become.


	15. Awaken

**Chapter Fourteen**

Awaken

It seemed to take hours for my mind to slowly come to, dragging itself out of the dark depths of my memories. I wasn't even really aware of it until I realized that my mind was completely empty. It was a curious sensation. Almost as if my brain had run out of interesting things to show me, or it had simply worn itself out, leaving nothing but a vague realization, a dim sense of being and the occasional stray thought. I couldn't really think. Only feel. I could feel myself breathing, but my breaths were labored and shallow. My throat felt sore and parched every time my body swallowed, not necessarily painful but uncomfortable enough to send a meager spike of discomfort through my brainwaves. My skin felt like it was pulsating slightly, sickly warm with the remnants of the fading fever. I could sense that I was lying down on my back on something soft. But nothing beyond that made much sense. Nothing responded to my thoughts. Not that I was really trying.

Eventually, though, my stubborn brain pulled itself through. I certainly couldn't stay like that forever.

When I finally began to really awaken, it was like being born again. It seemed like suddenly I became aware that my brain was connected to my body. I realized that I could move if I really wanted to…did I? Maybe. Sure. A hand rose weakly, trembling, before falling back to my side. It was a strange feeling. I felt the movement. Knew it had been me. Knew I had done it thousands of times before. But it still felt as if I were doing it for the first time. Like the hand had been connected to a thousand pound concrete block and moved through molasses. I couldn't understand why. In the weak confusion that followed, my mind slipped for an unknown amount of time. And then suddenly I was back. A little stronger. A little more aware. I raised my hand again and rested it on my stomach where it rose up and down slowly with my ragged but steady breathing. It was a little easier to move this time. The corners of my lips twitched slightly. And then I was gone again.

The next time I came to, I distinctly felt something gently brushing against my forehead and my hair in a comforting, stroking motion. My eyes moved under my closed lids, searching the darkness. Mother? That seemed like something she would do, what with how miserable I was feeling. Mother. Was she…No. No, not mother. My sense of smell connected with my brain at that moment and the scent it registered was not remotely similar to her. But it was still fairly familiar. Very. Very familiar. My curiosity flared a small bit. Who?

_Open your eyes, Eden._

The thought flickered weakly before dying out as quickly as it had surfaced. But my drifting mind latched onto it, studying it with increasing curiosity and mild interest. Open my eyes? Oh. Okay. Why not?

The very first thing I realized while trying to carry out the silent self-command was that it was very difficult. Not only because I still was slowly, gradually regaining control over what little strength my body possessed at the moment, but also due to my lids being crusted over. My eyeballs flickered in frustration, waiting just long enough for me to gather up the strength to weakly raise the hand on my stomach to wipe the problem away.

Then I opened my eyes.

It was dark. Very dark. I blinked weakly and some of the darkness cleared. Okay, not very dark, then. Just dim. There was light coming from my side. Faded light. Vague. It doused everything in a pale, eerie blue that made the scene seem surreal, like…a dream.

But something told me this wasn't a dream. Not a dream at all…

I turned my head feebly towards the light, squinting and blinking furiously as I tried to figure it out. Whatever had been stroking the top of my head up to that point suddenly stopped at the movement. At the same time, there was an unexpected, sharp intake of breath to my other side. It punctured my dazzled thoughts and my body automatically responded to the suddenness of it by turning my face towards it, searching the dim light with sore eyes that struggled to stay open.

A pair of familiar pale eyes stared straight at me, just a little above my eye level. They were wide and filled with shock and disbelief. Staring out as they were from the unmoving gray flesh they were set in, for a moment, it looked as if I were staring at a statue kneeling beside the bed. I blinked several times and the illusion slowly faded. No, not a statue. It was living. He was living. My mouth opened on its own accord, my tongue and lips moving to form a voiceless word that my brain did not have the memory or attention span to comprehend.

But the Hunter seemed to understand it. In response, he slowly reached out a trembling hand and brushed the back of his clawed fingers against the side of my cheek, his eyes flickering. My lips twisted slightly in a smile and the fingers of my moved hand twitched slightly in a small wave.

The Hunter reached up so suddenly with a movement so quick and fluid that it sped up my heart several beats in panic, and I found my face trapped between his large, calloused hands. A sharp, miserable sound was wrenched from his throat as he stared into my face, searching for any signs of problems, for anything different than when I had last been truly awake. He searched my eyes, looking for…me. Ensuring that I was still there. Still sane. Still his Eden. Then he began to frantically inspect the rest of me, pulling at the covers that I realized were over my lower half, lifting and tugging at my extremities and clothes in what seemed like a desperate search for something I struggled to understand. I frowned, a part of my brain wanting to protest, but I had no energy to move my lips let alone form the words. And then, suddenly, the Hunter's face was right above mine, his eyes once again searching my face desperately, his own face twisted up in the feeble attempt to hold back the flurry of relief and sadness and fear and worry that was bottled up within him. I blinked through the darkness fading in and out of my vision and saw that his eyes were brimming with tears that glistened on his cheeks and poured down onto his neck and chest. He looked as if he had aged a decade. His scarred face was lined with worry and his eyes were more sunken and shadowed than when I had first seen his face all those weeks ago. It was a sight that made my heart ache on its own accord and confused my sluggish thoughts.

Why was he crying? I didn't like it. I wanted him to stop.

I didn't want my Hunter to cry.

I raised a shaking, exhausted hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks. The touch twisted his face further and he let out a strangled sob as he pulled my otherwise limp form into a crushing hug, letting loose a string of confusing, grating sounds that hurt my ears to listen to as he buried his face into my shoulder. Somehow, my vague consciousness knew that he wanted more than ever before to be able to talk to me right then. He wanted it so badly that it physically hurt him.

But I couldn't understand.

Why?

Was something wrong?

My fingers weakly brushed against his taut upper arm as I closed my eyes and took a ragged breath, wishing my throat would stop aching as badly as it did and that my weakness would go away.

It was well into the morning by the time I awoke next to find that the soreness in my throat had indeed faded away to a distant discomfort. But my weakness had remained. As before, it took a little while before it occurred to me that I needed to open my eyes, and when I did, blinking away the exhaustion, I found myself being cradled in the Hunter's slack grasp up against his chest. My hearing kicked in and my brain registered his slow, steady heartbeat pressed up against my ear. His breathing was deep and even. I slid my head back enough to look up blearily into his angled down face, only to find his eyes closed and his face slack in sleep. But as soon as I started fidgeting, fighting against my weariness and various aches and pains and the stifling arms around me, he immediately jerked awake, his eyes flashing open and his body shifting so he could lay me back against the bed and stare down at my face, his eyes wide and hopeful.

In the process, my head twisted slightly to the opposite side, catching a glimpse of the bedroom. My brain didn't register much of what was there. But it did see the bedside table, half covered in water bottles, crumpled washcloths, and a few bottles of medication including painkillers and flu syrup, and despite the heavy clutter, my attention zoned in on only one thing as the soreness in my throat flared up sharply.

Weakly, I tried to reach out to grab the nearest water bottle, but my fine motor skills had yet to come back under my control. I sent many of the objects scattering onto the floor as my hand flopped weakly. My lips twisted down in frustration. Water. I wanted water.

The Hunter seemed to understand immediately as I tried again with slightly better aim, only to knock the water bottle I had been aiming for onto the floor with the rest. He reached over me and immediately snatched up one of the remaining ones, struggling furiously with the cap with his awkward grip before giving up and putting it between his teeth, holding it fast as he twisted the main body of it until it came loose. Spitting the cap out off to the side, he slid one arm around my shoulders to prop me up against him and placed the slightly trembling water bottle to my chapped lips.

The first meager sip swept through my parched mouth like a tidal wave. I painfully, greedily swallowed it, only to trigger a furious coughing fit. The Hunter waited patiently until it subsided before attempting to give me a little more, only to be met with much the same reaction. He whined unhappily and pulled up slightly, staring down at me as if I was a particularly troublesome puzzle. The trembling hand holding the water bottle pulled back as he attempted to contemplate the problem, apparently uncertain if he should try giving me more to drink. I shook my head furiously through my coughing fit and feebly gestured for more. After a moment's hesitance and my coughing had subsided, he obeyed.

It took several more coughing fits and wheezing, heaving moments of deep, painful breathing before I managed to drink normally at long last. Encouraged, he gave me nearly half the small bottle before I had had enough and turned away, and the water filled my empty stomach and body like the elixir of life. I felt the bleariness and sickness almost literally being washed away, swept from my system and my mind. My vision and thoughts began to clear, only for me to come to the disabling realization that I was still so utterly exhausted. I rested my head against his chest and closed my eyes.

The next few days—it could have been weeks for all I could tell—passed in a blur. I woke up on and off, sometimes during the daylight and sometimes during the night for various lengths of time. The Hunter was always there at my side, either holding me to him or simply laying next to me. Each time, he tried to get me to drink a little more water. Take a dose or two of painstakingly measured out medication. Eat a small bit of the various types of food he seemed to produce out of nowhere before I returned back into my dreamless sleep. And eventually, I got stronger. Eventually, my mind began to think a little bit more past basic wants and needs.

Eventually, I came back.

I woke up one afternoon and immediately recognized that this time, my return to consciousness was different. For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, I was very noticeably alert. I was…awake. Awake like I hadn't been for what seemed like years. And yet I simply laid there, staring up at the ceiling. The Hunter was lying up beside me, one arm tucked around my middle, his chin resting on my shoulder as he slept. I turned my head enough to look at him, at the healed and faded scars on his face, at the heavy lines and apparent exhaustion at having worried over me and cared for me for however long I had been sick.

Wait.

_Wait_.

Sick?

My mind grinded to a halt.

Sick.

I suddenly couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. My thoughts remained stagnant for just a few moments more, lingering over that single cursed word, before my alert and aware mind suddenly broke out into a furious turmoil. Sick. I had been _sick_. That fact had not registered as clearly as it did right then. At any other stage of my life, it would not have been as large a concern. But this was a city and a world that had been ravaged by sickness. Destroyed. Mutilated.

Had it finally caught up to me?

I shot straight up into a sitting position rather abruptly, only to groan and keel over my knees as the blood sped to my head and my vision swam, forcing me to fight for my consciousness as my body shuddered uncontrollably. There was a stifled, startled growl to my side and I felt the bed move as the Hunter hastily sat up as well, jolted from his light, fretful sleep by my sudden movement. A gentle, worried hand slipped around my back as he pulled his other arm out from around my front. He growled again, his tone questioning and concerned.

I ignored him. Within moments my extreme dizziness had dissipated enough for me to focus, allowing me to shrug away from the Hunter next to me and swing my legs over the side of the bed, setting my feet on the floor while my fingers gripped the edge. I didn't know what I was doing. Where I was going. But I couldn't sit there. My body took over. My arm muscles went taut, adrenaline coursed through my weakened system, and I tried to push myself to my feet.

The Hunter let loose a strangled, panicked shriek behind me as I immediately collapsed to the floor onto my hands and butt. He was crouched at my side in less than a heartbeat, lifting me up into his powerful arms and swiftly setting me back into place on the bed. All the while, he growled at me furiously, his face contorted with anger and frustration as he firmly tucked me back under the covers, ignoring my pathetic attempts at trying to refuse.

"T-Terrence!"

His name tore from my throat before I even realized I had thought it. Terrence? It sounded unfamiliar, made even more so due to my voice being unrecognizably harsh from my sore throat and long disuse. It even took me several moments to make the connection between the word and the Hunter in front of me. When had I learned his name? It was difficult to recall. But at the sound of it, his purposeful movements faltered and his gaze snapped up to look at my face. I stared at him, my expression strangely stiff and emotionless, and it was as if I was looking at him for the first time. I saw that the self-inflicted nicks on his upper lip were now well-healed and beginning to fade, as were the other similar wounds, although I was certain that there would always be scars. His somewhat damaged eye had lost its swelled look, allowing for his gaze to be even and symmetrical for the first time since we had met. But past that and the obvious strain and deep lines on his face, he looked just as my brain remembered him. His shaggy hair was still unavoidably matted and in loose clumps. His eyes were still the ghostly, eerie paleness. His skin was still the sickly, sallow gray.

I blinked and cast my eyes away from his. Gray. His skin was gray. Like the other Infected. Like those who were sick.

My stomach churned nervously.

I…I had been sick, too. Hadn't I? I couldn't remember much of it—just vague feelings. Senses. Scattered images. I couldn't remember much of anything, really. I even struggled to remember where I was and why I was there. But I did know, somehow, that I had been sick—and that there was a very, very high chance that it was the same sickness that had destroyed the world. I certainly didn't feel any different, besides being so weak and miserable. I wasn't thinking any differently besides having trouble remembering much while being sick and a little before—the last thing I clearly remembered was being with the Hunter at the last safe house, and then it was nothing but vague snatches of images and sounds after that. But past that, nothing had changed. So that meant, if I was going to find out if anything else had changed…if the sickness had changed me…

Slowly, carefully, fearfully I raised a trembling hand up to my face, bathed in the pale light of the late autumn afternoon sun pouring in through the window. I didn't want to see what was there. I didn't want to face the fact that what I saw wasn't the same as before I had been sick. A thousand, million different possibilities and fears rushed through my mind, slowing time around me, slowing the moment of inevitable revelation, and yet it all boiled down to two things: I was either Infected, or I was normal. My skin would either be gray like the Hunter's, or brown like it was supposed to be. I…

I didn't want to see the state I was in now. I didn't want to know. I felt like my arm was moving on its own accord, raising my skin into view to show me the cards fate had dealt me in this sick game of horrifying life. And yet I had to know. Needed to.

My breathing stopped as I stared at the brown skin on my trembling hand.

"I-I need a mirror," I said quietly in my rough voice.

The Hunter hesitated at my side, staring at me with a mixture of emotions that I could not even attempt to read because all I could do was stare at my unblemished fingers, at the sunlight rolling over my brown-toned flesh. Then he obediently pushed himself up from where he had been kneeling and went to rummage in the drawers of the bathroom, returning what seemed like moments later with a small square mirror that he held out to me.

Sitting up, I lifted it from his grasp, took a deep breath with my eyes closed as I counted silently to three, and forced myself to look at the girl in the mirror to see whatever there was to see.

And I saw that I was still me.

Exhausted, starved, hollowed, and drawn. But I was still the girl I had been before I had fallen ill. I still had my long black hair, my dark narrow eyes, my tanned brown skin unblemished by anything except fading scars from battles long since past. Nothing new. I raised a shaking hand to touch my cheek, absently brushing away a strand of limp, greasy hair from my face, as if trying to ensure that what I was seeing was truly there. Then my hand traced down my neck and body, my eyes following as I pulled at my clothes, roving over my starved but miraculously intact form before I slowly sank back into the bed.

I was still _me_.

Whether my sickness had been a result of the Infection or not, I was still—in appearance at least—in the same state as I had been before my mind and body had fought through its personal, ailing hell. I wasn't sure what to feel. Relieved? Scared? Worried that maybe it all wasn't over? Yet even as that new thought sent a shiver of fear down my spine, I sensed somehow that I was on the road to recovery and not the path to a fresh level of hell.

Against all odds, against everything that said it had to be otherwise, I had survived when so many millions had not.

Setting the mirror down and leaning over my knees, arms wrapped around my shaking form, I turned to look at the Hunter to find him kneeling again at the bedside and staring at me blankly, apparently unsure what to think or feel. Staring at him and his haggard, exhausted appearance and expression etched with concern and caring, I felt a surge of affection flood my system from what seemed like nowhere. For a moment, I was puzzled with it. I felt like I was missing something important, a memory or an event that had occurred but I could not clearly remember.

No. Wait. I remember one thing. A fuzzy memory. In pieces. A…kiss.

A kiss that may have very well started my sickness in the first place.

I cast my gaze away from the Hunter, glancing around the room instead, not because I was more interested in it but because I couldn't handle the surge and mixture of emotions building in my chest and aching in my mind. But what unnerved me even more was the fact that I wasn't angry. I wasn't blaming him for most likely making me sick in the first place. Instead, all I could tell I felt was sadness.

My puzzlement deepened.

_It wasn't his fault. He would never do something like this to you on purpose._

More confusion.

I needed something else to focus on. Something else to think about.

Looking around, I noticed that we were in a bedroom. My brain told me that it was the Hunter's bedroom and I had no reason to doubt it. But it was a complete mess. Piles of clothes and food and towels and a variety of other objects littered the floor, cast into sharp relief by the afternoon sun streaming thickly in through the partially open window. I looked around at everything in surprise, my brain flickering with the thought that it had not been nearly this messy before I had fallen ill. My eye caught on something—a large brown shirt and familiar shorts with drawstrings. Another vague wisp of a memory told me I had been wearing those last. And I wasn't wearing them anymore.

I swallowed and eyed the Hunter warily. He was still watching me carefully, as if expecting me to do something unusual again. I swallowed again and took a shaky breath.

"Terrence," I said, my voice still harsh from the sickness. I paused at saying his name—I knew that it was his, but it felt foreign on my tongue. "I don't…I don't really remember much but…I don't think I'm wearing the same clothes I was wearing when I…when I went to sleep."

He immediately cast his gaze down to his hands, his face suddenly wracked with embarrassment. Seeing his reaction made me feel suddenly guilty, and I reached a trembling hand to nudge him in the arm. He glanced up at me furtively at the touch, looking like he wanted to just disappear into a hole. I left the implied question unasked, feeling that his reaction had been enough of an answer.

Feeling slightly humiliated, I wrapped my arms more tightly around me, running my fingers up and down my arms and feeling very awkward. I thought I should feel angry at the fact that I had a very vague feeling he'd seen more of me than I was comfortable with, but the anger did not come. So instead, I looked around once again at the room, more closely inspecting the scattered objects lying on the floor in an effort to drive the thoughts from my mind. Now that I was looking more closely, the clothes on the floor looked more feminine, smaller. Perhaps my size or a little larger. Some seemed to be soiled and were piled in one messy heap. Others looked clean and were stacked and folded rather clumsily together. The towels looked to have been placed in much the same way. There was also bagged or easy access food, the type the Hunter could get into much easier than cans. And there were spare blankets. Pillows. Bed sheets. Other various items and small boxes or packages. It looked like a store had exploded inside the four walls. And it only took me a few moments of bewildered through to reach a conclusion as to why.

The Hunter had been taking care of me. And by the looks of things, he had been doing so for quite a long time. I remembered my face in the mirror. I looked more starved than I remembered being. More thin and drawn. An appearance that would have taken more than a few hours or even a few days to achieve.

"I've been sick," I whispered quietly, slowly turning my gaze to the Hunter. To Terrence. "I've been very sick for a long time. A really long time."

He stared at me with a mournful, still slightly embarrassed gaze. Nodded.

"And you…you've been taking care of me."

His eyes lowered and his shoulders twitched slightly in a shrug as he fiddled with the covers beneath his clawed hands.

The wave of affection returned, almost doubled in force. I felt tears brimming my eyes for a reason beyond my current comprehension. And although I couldn't really remember what had happened before I had fallen ill, although I was only vaguely recalling our interactions when coming here to this place, his once former home, without hesitation I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him to me, the tears flowing down my face as I took steadying, shallow breaths into his ear.

"Thank you."

He did and said nothing for several moments, too stunned by my action. But eventually, I felt his arms creep around my back, fastening themselves into a relieved hug that spoke to me of all the desperation and fear that he had felt when he had realized I had fallen sick. Of the guilt and love as he had cared for me in my sickness. Of the joy and relief and affection at seeing me awake and whole.

And what was I feeling? I wasn't too sure. But it seemed to be okay.

We held each other for what seemed to be a long time. But eventually my meager strength was sapped and my grasp turned limp. He let go in response and I fell back against the pillows, pressing the heel of my hands to my sore eyes.

"I think I need to sleep a little more," I said faintly. I looked through my fingers in time to see the Hunter nodding, his face wet with tear streaks. I smiled, and he feebly smiled back.

Then a sudden wave of exhaustion from the mental and physical strain exerted during my brief awakening swept through my body and I grunted, turned my face to the side, and closed my eyes.

* * *

**Author's Babble: **Huh. And now we know that Terrence has been doing all this time—raiding the local Wal-Mart. So! Is this story confusing enough for you yet? If it is, then that's good. If it isn't, then that's also good. If it feels like there are a lot of open-ended questions going on, then that's even better!

Now. Time for Q&A time again.

What is the reason you are reading this story? What do you like about it? Dislike? Who the hell are you anyway? (Yes, I am asking you to talk about yourself.) And if you had a choice, do you prefer zombies or vampires and why?

Yes, that's a random last question, I know, and it really has no purpose. The rest do, though! And that's about it from me, we'll see you next update! Thanks again for all the supports! You guys make me blush. Seriously. And that goes to everyone who's sent me messages and comments and reviews and fanart (yes FANART—that made me so happy I just about died) and stuff, both here and on DeviantArt (and for the sake of shameless self-promoting, I suggest you check out my DeviantArt page if you would like a little Left 4 Dead fanart and also journal updates on my fan fictions—link in my author's profile)! Oh, can I say again that I also received very awesome FANART for this story? My lord, you all are just too good to me.

Okay seriously, that's all now. See you next update (which will hopefully come sooner than this one)!


	16. Recover

**Chapter Fifteen**

Recover

It took me two long weeks to recover sufficiently enough to get out of bed and around the apartment on my own. Two long weeks of being fussed over and cared for by a Hunter who had, overnight it seemed to me, become as human as I had a feeling he would ever be. Two long weeks of eating and drinking a little more, staying awake a little longer, and breaking out into coughing fits a little less each day. Two weeks of remembering little by little the events that had brought us to this apartment in the first place. Two weeks of slowly, gradually returning to a functional level of health and ability that, while barely a fraction of the fitness state I had once been, was nevertheless a relief to achieve because it showed that, despite the painfully slow progress, I was at least getting better. Just very, very slowly.

In short, it was two weeks of immense, stifling boredom.

Well, maybe just one week of boredom.

I found out early on that there wasn't much to do around the apartment. Terrence had relieved his apartment's shelves (and what looked like the shelves of a local bookstore) with a variety of books that ranged everywhere from biographies to the latest best seller of the old world. The books were spread out all over the bedroom—on the bedside table, on the floor, on the dresser, and even on the bed itself, lost amongst the nest of pillows and blankets and sleeping bags and various bits of bedding he had brought in from who knew where. When he wasn't caring for me or himself or on brief scavenging trips outside to find us supplies or simply sleeping, he was sitting next to me, reading one of his many books to keep himself entertained through the long hours. It was lucky he had retained the ability to read, at least. I suppose it was all he had to do while he had been waiting for me to wake up (besides redeveloping his fine motor skills to be able to manipulate clothing and open food, as I observed rather quickly), and he seemed content with it even now.

I, however, was not.

Books could not hold my attention any longer. I couldn't find interest in any of them, no matter what I tried. I couldn't find the words and pages and stories, no matter what genre they were, to be even remotely distracting for longer than a few minutes. Even books that I had loved before the outbreak (which were not that many, as I had never been much of a reader) held little appeal to me now. As things were, they just seemed…childish. Foolish. Dull. Even at times absurdly ridiculous. It was a fight to even be able to read through one page let alone an entire chapter of anything I put my hands on. My reality was more interesting than any book was now. My life had it all—horror, action and adventure, romance, the supernatural, and maybe a little bit of self-help and psychological analysis. It was difficult getting lost in an imaginary world when I could barely find myself in the real one.

Terrence began to realize early on that his form of entertainment and boredom relieving was not going to work for me as it did for him. I was physically and mentally restless, unable to cope with sitting and laying in that bed for the long hours that I had to, being too weak yet to support my weight on my legs in order to get up and walk around. This was nothing like those long days in the first safe house, recovering from Terrence's attack on me. At least there, I had had a purpose to work towards. I had been able to distract myself with exercises, with caring for the Hunter, with preparing for our journey to the next safe house, with finishing up apparently fruitless chores and tasks around the small set of rooms. I had been able to distract myself with something, in short, _productive_. But here…here, there was none of that for me. Here, I was the one being cared for. There was nothing I could really do that was in the least bit helpful. Never mind the fact that I couldn't even get out of bed by myself for two weeks. I couldn't even successfully complete such mundane tasks as changing my clothes on my own.

Talk about frustrating. Not to mention highly embarrassing for both Terrence and me on a regular basis. But it wasn't like there was anyone else around, and I suppose we both had our fair shares of embarrassing situations between us by now. I at least had a very good idea of how Terrence had felt back at the first safe house when I had given him a shower and every time after when I had helped him change his clothes. It wasn't a pleasant feeling to say the least. But I got over it. Eventually.

We both did.

Past that, though, the excitement around the apartment was about as boring as it could get. And Terrence knew it. He also knew, somehow, that if I didn't find some way to ease the pain of having nothing to do, I would snap.

And that was how I learned more about the human who had become my Hunter.

One day about near the end of the first week, I awoke from one of my regular brief afternoon naps to find him digging around in his drawers and his closet, adding slowly to a small pile of books and papers he had started on his side of the bed. He simply shook his head when I asked him what he was doing in the hoarse, whisper like voice I had to use to avoid starting a coughing fit, and so I had to wait curiously and impatiently until he had at last pulled what seemed to be the last book from the bottom drawer of his dresser and returned to my side.

"What's all this about?" I asked as he settled in among the many blankets and pillows, his warm body pressed up comfortably against my side.

He regarded me for a moment with a thoughtful, serious gaze, the book still clutched in his hands. And then he held it out to me rather tentatively.

Certainly curious as I knew that he knew I wasn't interested in reading books, I carefully took it onto my lap and popped it open to the first page to find a set of carefully placed photographs, protected as they were by a thin plastic covering.

It was a picture album.

I looked up at him in shock. Out of everything I had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been this. "Terrence, I…"

He shook his head again and the movement silenced me. He smiled at me sadly, reassuringly as if knowing what I was about to say—that I didn't want him to have to relive any painful memories of his past for my sake if he didn't want to, that I was worried his mental state concerning this topic was still fragile.

But my sickness had changed him as much as it had changed me. He had had a lot of time to come to terms with who he had once been and who he was now. So when he pointed down to the first picture and began to teach me about his family through those two dimensional, still captures of long since past moments in time, I understood that each memory tore a little at his heart. But he was all right with that. Because he wanted me to know, he wanted to tell me about himself like I had told him about myself. And this was the only way he could do it.

I had been right in guessing that the man and woman in the picture I had seen on Terrence's dresser was in fact his mother and father. They were in a lot of the pictures he had, which turned out to fill two full picture albums and more than a dozen various frames throughout the apartment—I had a feeling that it was all his mother's doing, as the cutesy, artistic flare to each scrapbook-like page of the photo albums seemed quite a bit beyond Terrence's tastes. I also found out that he had a brother, Alexander, four years his senior who looked very much like him, only with a lighter shade of brown hair. I read from a short, carefully typed essay for an English composition class that Terrence looked up to him a great deal, but had always struggled to step out from his brother's shadow. Like any younger sibling, I suppose—I certainly had had my share of that experience in my own family. Then I learned that Terrence had been on the swim team all throughout high school and had continued on that strain by teaching swimming lessons to various age groups during the summer. I saw that he had dozens of friends but only a handful that appeared consistently in the pictures more than the others. I learned from his driver's license that he had come from a state on the west coast, and I learned from various papers and books that he had been working on attaining his master's degree in physics when the infection had hit. Night had fallen by the time we had gotten through that first photo album. He had pointed at the faces in the pictures and I either guessed or read the small little captions provided under or on the back of some, and in the process he learned to supplement what I saw with various other bits and pieces of papers and records and other photos he scrounged up from the dark crevices of his bedroom.

I went to sleep that night feeling better than I had felt in ages, and I could tell from the small smile on Terrence's face that as painful as it was to be faced so utterly with everything he had lost, he was glad to have found something to keep me from being bored. I hadn't kissed him since that first time after finding out his name, but as he flicked off the camping lantern he had collected during his scavenging and we settled under the pile of covers to sleep against the cold, I kissed him then. Gently, briefly, almost clumsily, I'll admit. And he liked that.

But then, so did I.

I was rarely bored after that. He raided his apartment to its fullest, bringing me everything in it from the video games and DVDs outside in the living room to past essays he had stuffed into the back of his closet. I learned as much as his pictures and his papers and his records could tell me, which was, as I soon found, quite a bit. By the end of the two weeks of my slow recovery, I knew more about my Hunter than I had ever learned about any of my survivors combined.

But then I learned his final story. I learned that he had saved the worst for last.

Maybe he wasn't going to tell it to me at all.

Almost exactly two weeks since I had first returned to consciousness with a clear mind, I finally managed to get out of bed and walk around the bedroom by myself—with Terrence closely supervising, of course, since I had landed more than once on the floor in my premature efforts at ambulation. It tired me out more quickly than I felt it should have, but I still felt elated. I was convinced that before the end of another week, I'd be fit enough for us to leave the apartment and set out in search of different shelter. Terrence's apartment was nice and well furnished, but we had both agreed that we couldn't stay there for much longer. We had utilized its resources to the fullest, and it lacked a very important thing: power. Something that we were both certain we could find somewhere else as generators and natural energy sources had been quite a bit more common around the city than expected before the outbreak. The apartment was also high up and, being an older building, somewhat drafty, which was our largest concern. Winter was drawing closer. The city was located far enough north that this fact became an ever looming issue of importance that crept nearer with each passing day, a silent, unseen predator stalking every minute of both day and night. It was becoming commonplace for me to shiver helplessly at night as I tried to fall asleep, even with the immense mountain of blankets and Terrence's natural warmth to keep me comfortable. I had lost too much of my already limited body mass and fat to supply and retain my own warmth, and it would take some time yet to regain it back. I knew that we needed to get a move on and find a new residence soon, before winter hit and movement through the city would be more miserable than it already was, and we could not risk having Terrence carry me anywhere. If we ran into trouble, as we most certainly would in a city infested with zombies, we would both need to be able to take care of ourselves and he would need to be unhindered by my uselessness. So the prospect of the fact that soon I would be able to hopefully return to a state where I could take care of myself was exciting. It made me even more impatient and less able to sit still, despite the fact that I had to rest for long periods of time in order to regain my strength.

To get my mind off of the infuriating fact that it would still take a few days more before I could walk further out of the bedroom, I turned my attention back to the photo albums and framed pictures that had held my interest and fascination for so long. Terrence, meanwhile, had gathered up several cans of ready to eat fruit and brought them to me to open—he could get open most cartons and buckets and bagged items quite easily, but anything requiring a can opener was still beyond him. I popped each open and dumped them into a bowl he held as I skimmed over the pictures for what must have been the hundredth time, and as he turned away to retrieve some plastic forks from the cardboard box housing utensils and dishware, I remembered something I wanted to ask him but was too nervous, maybe even a little frightened, to do so.

There was a girl in many of the later pictures with Terrence. A pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair and a kind, laughing smile and blue eyes. When we had come to her picture the first time and I had asked if she was a friend, Terrence had merely shrugged noncommittally and moved on. It had been very different than his usual nod or headshake, but I hadn't pressed any further than that. But in many of the pictures…in many of them, it was just Terrence and her. Holding each other. Laughing. Joking around. Or otherwise hanging out with friends.

They looked comfortable together. Happy. Loving. And I wondered…

As Terrence returned to my side with the bowl of mixed fruit and a fork for each of us, I picked up the picture of Terrence and his friends that I had first seen on his dresser all those weeks ago. I knew now that one of the other guys in the picture was Terrence's roommate. The other was a mutual friend who had appeared once or twice in other pictures. The girl…she was the same girl, and she was holding onto Terrence lazily as his arm was wrapped around her shoulders.

In that moment staring at that picture, somehow, I knew.

I had had the suspicion all along that she had meant more to Terrence than he was letting on, but I hadn't pointed it out. He had given me enough silent, subtle clues whenever she came up in pictures to indicate he didn't want to talk about it. But I wanted to. I felt I had to for the both of us, and my success of the day gave me enough energy—and possibly enough misguidance—to at last bring it up.

"Terrence?"

The Hunter looked up at me immediately at the sound of his name as he settled down to sit next to me, the bowl in his lap. My voice quality had improved greatly over the past couple of weeks, and although it was still slightly hoarse and I was still prone to the occasional coughing fit, I could talk almost normally again.

I held up the picture in my hand and waited until he had looked at it curiously before looking back up at me, waiting for whatever question I had to ask about it. I swallowed, hesitated for a moment, and then pointed to the girl.

"I want to know about her."

I saw in his eyes a part of him close off instantaneously. He dropped his gaze and shook his head firmly, plucking the picture from my fingers and flicking it lightly back onto the pile before pointedly handing me a fork. I stared at him and didn't move to take the utensil.

"Terrence…"

He shook his head again, this time a little more furiously before I could even get the rest of my sentence out. But I ignored him and kept going.

"…I think I know why you don't want to talk about her. And if I'm right…I understand why. Of course I understand why. But please, Terrence, I…I want to know." I paused. "Was she your girlfriend?"

His hand pulled away sharply and he turned his face away from me, but not before I saw his expression twist in anger and frustration and…pain. I hated to see that. I diverted my gaze and instead moved to gingerly pick up the discarded picture, cradling it carefully in my hands as I sat back and stared at it. After a long, long stretch of awkward, uncomfortable stillness, I gently reached out and brushed my fingers against Terrence's elbow. He hesitated for several moments before slowly turning back to look at me, his face still edged with anger and a hurt that hurt me as well.

"She's a pretty girl," I said, smiling encouragingly. His gaze shifted away from me to the side. I sighed. "Terrence, I…could you tell me what happened to her?"

He shook his head again, this time slowly, not disagreeing with me, but instead fighting against some memory that he did not want to remember. But a part of me had to know. I don't know why. Well, maybe I did, but it settled down to the same thing.

"Did she get sick, too?"

He hesitated, and then shook his head slowly. I saw his expression fall slightly, moving away from anger and more towards a desperate sadness I had seen only a few times before on his face.

"Was she…was she killed?"

Again, he shook his head, and slowly, so very slowly, he raised his eyes to look at me in the face. One of the forks he was holding fell loosely from his grasp as he raised a hand and pointed to me. And I understood immediately. I recalled a time several weeks earlier in the last safe house when the subject of his friends and whether they had left him behind had been briefly brushed upon. I hadn't given it much thought since then as I had seen the pain and confusion it had caused him. But it all made sense now.

"She…was a survivor. Like me." I paused, uncertain if I truly wanted to go on saying what I thought I knew. "But when you got sick…when everything went to hell…she left you behind."

He blinked and looked away again, staring at his hands. I wasn't sure what to say to him. I suddenly felt as if I was a stranger looking in on something private. And I felt…confused. Maybe a little hurt. Maybe a little jealous. Angry, even, but with myself or with Terrence or with the girl I would never know, I wasn't sure. I didn't know the circumstances that had led to her leaving him, whether she had done it out of fear and disgust at seeing what he had become or whether she had left long before without ever truly knowing what had become of him in the mad break for evacuation in those final hours, and I would be fine never knowing for certain. For all I knew, her leaving him could have pushed him down the final path to insanity, could have pushed him to lose sight of his retained humanity and attack survivors. To attack me. But if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that Terrence was hurting as much as I had when I had realized my survivors had gone, when I had realized I would never see those four wonderful people again. It was a pain I vaguely understood because I had felt a lesser version of it before.

Not like this, though. Not like him. But then, as I had realized earlier, he had had a lot of time to think about all of this while I had been sick. He had had time to learn to cope. He had had to recover, too. It didn't take the pain away—nothing really could—but for him, it had made it bearable.

Gently, I set the picture down on the covers and then reached to slide my fingers around his arm nearest to me, leaning close as I tried to catch his downward gaze. "Terrence…I'm sorry."

He shook his head again, unwilling to look at me still.

I gently lifted the bowl of fruit and the forks from his grasp and set them on the bedside table after dropping the books piled on it to the floor. Then I turned back to him and reached my arms around his neck, pulling him towards me as I laid back and cradled his head against my shoulder. He obeyed my touch willingly, gripping my upper arm with his powerful fingers and resting his forehead against my neck. I thought I felt something wet drip onto my skin and I held him closer.

We didn't talk about the girl again, and immediately after that for the next several days, Terrence seemed to be trying harder than ever to keep me happy. I thought I had a good idea why—he possibly thought that his weak reaction to the topic of his former girlfriend had offended me somehow. It was almost as if he was afraid I thought that he still considered her more important than I was. In his own way, he made it clear to me that she was, to put it bluntly, in the past. The man who had loved her had existed in a different life. The past few weeks—nearly two months now, I realized with a jolt—had become an entirely different lifetime. He had become an entirely different man. And that man loved me more than he had ever loved anyone before.

But I already knew that. Because I felt the same way.

By the end of the third week, I was strong enough to make our next journey. I still tired easily, still coughed horrendously in the chill air, and I still probably could have done with a few more weeks of recovery. But it was time to move on. Winter was closing in on us quickly, and we had to find better shelter. That was what mattered now. I had learned enough about my Hunter's past. It was time to look on to the future.

Wherever that would lead us.

We left his apartment after a few days of gathering and ordering our supplies, ensuring we both had warm layers of clothing to protect against the incoming cold. We walked away from the rooms and walls that would forever hold such a largely significant part of our lives for various reasons—it was the place where I had learned Terrence's past and his name. It was the place where he had become more human than anything else could have allowed him to become. It was the place where I had almost lost myself to a sickness I still had yet to be able to explain let alone clearly remember.

It was the place where I had accepted what I had denied for so long.

But it was just a place, after all.

We left all that behind us, and with it, we left behind his pictures and his past, neatly organized and put away into their proper places in the apartment we had cleaned and tidied as best we could for no other reason than it just seemed right to do so. The only things we took with us were the things we needed to survive. The important things.

We set out into the city we had been isolated from for so long with no intention of looking back to where we had once been, and I wondered, almost fearfully, what new horror we would meet next.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And…another poll! Really quick one this time. And thanks for all the responses to the last one! It's so nice knowing about y'all, and I'm so glad you took the time to answer! So, now…_How did you find this story/what made you start reading it? And is there anything about the plot/characters that you have a question about? Besides the ending, obviously._

I know I've been promising this for a couple of chapters now, but now that all this sappy realistic pacing and back story crap is out of the way, the next chapter will introduce two new characters and move us out of this crazy romance stage. I've already mentioned one of them to a couple of people rather offhandedly—we'll see if you remember! This next arc shouldn't be too long—although you all know me by now; I like to drag things out. But then it will be time for the awesome third arc and a new set of characters that I am very much looking forward to.


	17. Encounter

**Chapter Sixteen**

Encounter

There was a place in the city nicknamed Little Beverly Hills. As the name suggested, it had once literally been the richest outlying neighborhood of the city. Most of the sprawling mansions were built on enough land to house our university, and even the comparatively smaller houses (that were still larger than average) and various apartment buildings in the adjacent residential districts were upper class.

We weren't thinking of putting up in one of those hotel-like homes, of course. It would be too difficult to defend against other Infected, too large to manage with just the two of us. But we figured that it would be the most likely area for the sort of shelter we were looking for, namely the type of shelter with its own power source. Electricity in the rest of the city had long since cut out what with no one left to man the power plants, and with winter coming in, it seemed vital that we found some place warm to wait out the cold months, and the only places with power now were the ones with self-supplied power sources. And the most likely place to find such buildings seemed to be where the majority of people were both often overtly paranoid and in possession of the means and resources to afford it.

Besides, if you were able to choose to live anywhere in the city, where better to set up camp than in the richest part of town?

The only problem was the fact that Little Beverly Hills was on the other side of the city. It would take several days to walk there, and although we saw little sign of other Infected during the first few days, their presence was always an ominous possibility. I reasoned that most of the common Infected had long since died off—how long could those bodies continue to function as they were? But I also suspected that Terrence wasn't the only reasonably intelligent Infected out there. I had seen the cunning and intelligence of the other special Infected, and I had a feeling that quite a few of them had managed to survive in whatever way they could. Life learned to adapt. So while we didn't see any at first, I knew that the Infected were still out there, and I knew that if they were out there, then they were most likely very ugly, very hungry, and definitely mentally and physically capable enough to survive this long.

Smart and hungry. Not the best combination when I was most likely one of the things on the menu.

So we trudged on with every wary step, expecting at any moment to see the telltale signs of being stalked or hunted by the creatures both Terrence and I now feared. Our pace was tediously slow and we made only half the distance we could have traveled before my sickness, and it was entirely because of me. Terrence didn't mind, though. He probably could have cared less if we made it to our destination unlike the last time we had traveled. All that seemed to matter to him now, though, was making sure I didn't push myself too hard. I worried about that too, but what was edging my thoughts was a little different despite my efforts to put it to the side and deal with it when it came up. But the fact of the matter remained—I still didn't know what we were going to do in the future after we had weathered out the winter and survived until spring. I hadn't really bothered thinking about it, but I realized sometime early on that we certainly couldn't go on like this forever with hardly a purpose in mind or a cause. We couldn't simply continue existing, just the two of us, traveling around a city infested with the dead and diseased for the rest of our lives.

Right?

I didn't have too much time to think about it though. What with caring for my ailing health and enjoying being able to walk and do something and focusing on staying alive and hidden from any possible Infected presence, the only times I really had a moment to sit and think was when we were resting for the night, and by then I was usually too tired from the day to do much thinking anyway. Just as we had before while making the trip to Terrence's apartment, we holed up in whatever adequate shelter we could find during the night. It was difficult finding a clean place to sleep what with all the death hanging everywhere, and my thought that many of the common Infected had died out seemed to be confirmed as everywhere we went we saw Infected bodies in varying states of decay. Having been isolated from all of it for so long, I found that I had developed an inability to tolerate too much of the sight and smell of it now, and so it became necessary to ensure that whatever shelter we found was as void of death as possible or I would otherwise be unable to sleep very well.

I also found very quickly that I was still quite a bit sicker than I had wanted to admit, and the colder air was not helping. Not one bit.

But then, I didn't want to admit to that, either.

"I'm fine, Terrence," I choked out as I hacked and heaved shakily through the thick scarf wrapped around my lower face. I remembered somewhere the phrase "coughing up a lung" and felt like that was exactly what I was inadvertently attempting to do.

Terrence looked at me, and by the expression on his face I knew that he didn't believe me in the slightest. I probably wouldn't have believed me either, if I had been him. Besides looking overtly starved and pale despite Terrence's care, I still tired easier than I had before and the chill autumn air had a tendency of triggering more violent coughing attacks on my dry throat than probably sanely normal. It had become a part of our daily routine, and I knew that Terrence did not like it one bit. Barely two days into our travel and already I suspected he was trying to figure out how to tell me that he wanted us to find shelter closer to our present location so I wouldn't have to trudge for days in the cold and only get worse. I had certainly considered it myself, but we had inspected every likely living quarter along the way and not one had had the desired power that we needed. So we kept moving. And I kept not getting any better.

He handed me an open water bottle and I nudged my scarf down enough to take a sip in between coughs, popping in a cold pill while I was at it. The water helped. A little. I could only hope that these new cold pills we had picked up at a pharmacy the day before would help a little more.

Terrence made a gesture to the ground and I shook my head, coughing a few more times before smiling feebly and standing up straight from where I had been leaning against a brick wall for support. "No, I don't need to rest."

He made a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat. I took a deep breath and started walking briskly past him, ignoring the fatigue echoing in what seemed like every muscle in my body. After a moment's hesitation where I was sure he was debating on whether or not to force me to rest or to simply follow and wait until I called a break on my own, my companion started grudgingly after, falling into usual step close beside me.

I stuffed my gloved hands into the pockets of my coat and tried not to shiver too noticeably. I knew that it wasn't that cold—I had come from a city farther north than this one, and the autumns and winters there were infinitely colder, the type of cold that bit right through every layer of clothing you had and straight to the bone. If things had been normal and I had been healthy, I probably could have sufficed with a thin jacket. But as it was with my body unable to produce and retain heat from being starved and sick, I was wearing two shirts, a sweater, a coat, a scarf, a beanie, sweatpants, thick wool socks, and a pair of thick gloves and still feeling miserably chilled, not to mention ridiculous. I was sure my brothers, especially Jericho, would make fun of me if he saw me now.

Not like I would ever see him again.

Terrence had picked out a lightweight hooded jacket, a long sleeved shirt, new running shoes, and thick black sweatpants for his own use while we had been raiding a local department store for my clothing. He hadn't used his hood at all since then, and I figured he had chosen a jacket with a hood solely out of comfort measures. I wasn't entirely sure why he had chosen to discard his old clothing either when we had been in his apartment with a closet and dresser filled with clothing already his size. But maybe he didn't want to keep any reminders of that place. Maybe, like me, he wanted to move on from the past lost to the Infection. Or maybe he just didn't like his old clothes anymore.

I started coughing again about two or so blocks away. It wasn't as bad as before, but I still needed to pause to resignedly get out some more water, and after a minute I was able to swallow down the irritation well enough to continue on. I stuffed the water bottle into my front coat pocket for easy reach, hoping I would at least last a little more than two blocks before my next coughing fit, and went to move onward only to be stopped in my tracks as Terrence's hand shot out to grab my arm in a grip that felt like a vice.

Immediately, I glanced over at him, frowning and ready to once again firmly state that no, I did not need a break and we should get going. He wasn't looking at me, though. His face was tense and his eyes were focused up ahead of his, his jaw taut and set. I felt his claws digging in through my many layers, and I knew right away that something was wrong.

"Terrence," I hissed, my voice coming out rough and soft.

He didn't respond for several long, tense moments, and I strained with my poor hearing to attempt to hear a sign of whatever had alerted him. I certainly couldn't see anything in the street in front of us, even with the dim late afternoon light of the pale sun shining through the gray clouds. Before I could get too frustrated, he glanced at me and stiffly let go of my arm, pointing at the sharp pointy weapon belted to my side in a makeshift holster. Without further question, I pulled off my gloves and unsheathed the katana immediately, even as I wondered if I would have enough strength and ability to use it.

When I was as ready as I would ever get, Terrence motioned to me to stay behind him and started down the sidewalk as close to the building as he could, his shoulders tensed and his footing and movements as agile and fluid as any Hunter's. I had to step up my pace to catch up, biting into my scarf in an effort to prevent another coughing fit even though I was breathing heavier with this new level of exertion. I made a mental note to ensure that the next time we stopped by a store, I was going to grab some more cough drops.

I first heard the signs of trouble about three blocks from where Terrence had stopped. By then, though, my muscles were screaming for rest and it was all I could do to stifle my dry throat from letting loose. But I ignored my body's pleas to take it easy. The sounds of snarling and growling from somewhere up ahead in our path had at last reached my less sensitive ears, and I knew that we had finally come across the source of the worries haunting our thoughts.

It sounded like a fight. A really bad fight. And I was pretty sure I had a good idea what sorts of creatures were fighting.

We drew closer, and when we were so close I could hear the sounds without doubt, Terrence stopped and I stumbled to a stop as well, trying to disguise my exhaustion as he glanced back at me, looking slightly ashamed, as if he had forgotten himself in an effort to get us closer to the sounds. He stepped up to me, gently touching my shoulder and pointing to the sheltered doorway of a café we were in front of. I knew what he wanted me to do, but I simply shook my head, eyeing him curiously.

"I'm not waiting here alone without you," I rasped, my voice muffled by the scarf. I paused, breathing deeply and reconsidering my words. "If you're going anywhere near the source of that noise, I'm coming with you."

He scowled and shook his head.

"Hey, it's either that or we find a different route. I promise I'll try to stay out of trouble—I know how weak I am, Terrence. Besides, why are you trying to run _towards_ trouble anyway?"

As if to answer my question, I heard the faint, resounding shriek echo through the quiet death of the city coming from the direction of the other noises. I shivered, before remembering that the strain of infection that it signaled was also the same strain that had infected the man standing before me.

It had been a long time since I had heard that shriek. But I recognized it immediately all the same.

Hunter.

I frowned, straightening up as tall as my short stature allowed, my katana clutched tightly in my hand. Something seemed to fit into place in my head and I nodded. "I'm coming with you."

He regarded me long and hard for several moments and I stared up at him defiantly, daring him to try to force me to stay behind. But another shriek sounded and he broke off his eye contact, glancing over his shoulder towards the noise. He glanced back at me, hesitated, and then shrugged somewhat sulkily.

The hand holding my katana twitched. "Go. I'm right behind you."

He gave me one last, searching look, and then started off towards the noise with me at his heels.

We found chaos in an alleyway a block away.

Skidding to a stop, Terrence shrugged off his backpack mid step and cautiously peered around the corner. Breathing raggedly and trying not to make too much noise, I snuck behind him and did the same, only to almost wish I hadn't.

It had been a long time since I had seen battle, and just as with the dead bodies, I seemed to have lost my ability to stomach it as well as I once had.

A little less than half a dozen Infected were caught up in what looked like a battle to the death. Blood and spit and torn shreds of clothing filled the air and the blacktop pavement beneath them as they clawed and bit and tore at each other with a rage that shocked even me. The movement was so furious and disjointed that it was difficult to see exactly how many creatures were caught up in the fight, but I recognized the telltale signs of the Hunter strain in all except one—there was what looked like a Smoker backed up against a corner made between a dumpster and one of the building walls. He was bleeding profusely from more wounds than even Terrence had sported after his bout with the witch, and he was struggling furiously with a Hunter he had wrapped his long, thick tongue around and was holding before him as a shield against another Hunter attempting to claw him to death. I could tell immediately that he was tiring and that eventually, the attacking Hunter would break through the makeshift barrier to get its target at last. Around them, it looked as if one of the other Hunters was attempting to fend off two opponents at once, and while he was doing surprisingly well at it considering the other two were noticeably larger and less injured, he looked as if he was close to having the tides turned against him as well.

I had never seen so many Hunters together before like that in all my time in the Infected city. I couldn't quite understand there were so many in one spot, why they were even fighting amongst each other like an Infected against a survivor. It terrified and confused and enthralled me in a way I could not understand, and it made me wonder…

I glanced up at Terrence's face and was surprised to see his expression twisted in a snarl. But it was all I managed to notice as a moment later, he had dropped into a crouch and leapt swiftly away straight into the middle of the tangle of claws and blood.

I wanted to scream after him in anger. What the _hell_? Why was he throwing himself unnecessarily into a fight that wasn't ours? Did he _want_ to get injured again? Did he know that seeing him throw himself into trouble so recklessly tore at my heart, made me want to scream?

I felt that I had never been as pissed off with that man as I was at that moment. What the hell was he _thinking_?

With an earsplitting shriek, Terrence slammed into the Hunter nearest us, the one attempting to get his claws into the shaking, frantic Smoker, just as my brain kicked into gear and I suddenly found myself charging down the alleyway, all exhaustion and pain forgotten as I prepared my katana to swing. Well, it didn't matter what idiotic notion had spurred him into joining this fight. He certainly wasn't going to go into it alone.

At the appearance of two new opponents, the other Infected immediately fell away from their respective fights, dropping into crouches and snarling viciously at us, the intruders. I charged straight at one of the Hunters separate from the Smoker's fight without a clue as to why we were attacking and if we were supposed to be helping or flat out destroying, and with a strangled yell I swung my katana with practiced, experienced ease.

The Hunter I had been aiming at leapt backwards in surprise and panic, barely a hair's breadth away of my blade. I felt certain that if I had been at my usual strength, he wouldn't have gotten away so unscathed. Carried by my momentum, I swung again as soon as I judged to be in range, and with a shriek and the rip of fabric, I saw my wild, unexpected swing rip through its mark as it tore through the ragged remnants of a Yankee's hooded sweater. My stomach twisted a little at the sight and the sound, but the feeling was swept away as the memories of battle flooded my system, washing away the weakness and queasiness that had developed after being away from it for so long.

It felt good to be at it again. Very good.

My opponent rolled away, scrambling onto all fours and immediately leaping off further down the alleyway, no doubt attempting to put more distance between us to muster up a decent counter attack without being interrupted. I stumbled to an abrupt stop, misjudged my strength, and fell to me knees, watching out of the corner of my eye as Terrence flung aside a limp, heavily mutilated body and ripped into the throat of the Hunter struggling furiously against the tongue of the Smoker crouching behind it. In front of me in between my opponent and where I stood, the two other Hunters had resumed their fight, now locked in a deadly scramble to land the winning blow. The smaller Hunter who had apparently been outnumbered was winning now that he was in a fight one to one despite his injuries, and I knew that both of the fights around me would wrap up soon with already clear winners.

It was just my fight that had the uncertain outcome.

I felt as if I was going to collapse into unconsciousness if I had to move a single muscle. The pain was so horrendous, the exhaustion so absolute. I was still sick. Very sick. We should never have left Terrence's apartment, or at the very least we should have decided to find a closer destination. Why did I continue to insist driving forward with choices that continuously presented us with situations like these? Why did I have to be so stubborn? I felt like at any moment my body was going to just give out on me. But the Hunter I was facing had dropped into the crouch that immediately signaled another pounce, and with nothing but the sheer will to survive giving me strength, I forced myself to my feet, bringing my katana to bear, my sight and brain exploding in white, blinding light as pain erupted through every cell in my body as my mind fell into a steel sense of resolve.

I'd made it through too much to lose now. I had too much to lose still.

I wasn't going to lose this fight.

I wasn't…I couldn't…

I saw through blurring, pain filled vision as the Hunter's muscles bunched, released, and he launched himself into the air over the fight in between us, claws outstretched, bloodied mouth open in a shriek, animalistic eyes narrowed and bloody black. It was all I needed to see for my stubborn, idiotic, life-saving sense of cold insanity to boil to the surface. It was a savage sight that my dormant love of fighting had longed for all those weeks of being helpless and trapped. My vision suddenly cleared as I brought up the katana in a sweeping, graceful move, as my footing shifted, steadied, and my experience and training from living in a zombie apocalypse brought my weapon to bear.

Then, suddenly, there were only four creatures left breathing in the blood filled alleyway.

I yanked my sword from the still body of the Hunter, stumbling backwards up against the wall with the effort.

There was silence.

The four of us stared at each other as the blood of the defeated spilled onto the street. The silence stretched, tightening, swirling around us, making it seemingly impossible to move. It held even my exhaustion and pain at bay for just that moment, stifled even more by the adrenaline now coursing through my system, pumping in my ears and constricting my throat.

And then a weak, straggling cough broke the spell.

It hadn't been me.

Automatically, I brought up my freshly bloodied katana towards the direction of the noise: the Smoker now slumped against the dumpster on the ground next to the mangled bodies of the Hunters he had been fighting. He had bitten off his tongue, and for the moment, the only signs showing him to be what he was were the distinctive tumors erupted over one side of his face and body and the barely discernible green cloud of smoke hovering over his form.

A Smoker. It had been a Smoker that had separated me from the survivors in the first place.

I suddenly felt infuriated. It was a feeling that kept me standing despite my body's pleading to rest.

There was an unfamiliar growl to my side and I saw the remaining Hunter drop into a crouch. Instinctively, I turned my katana on him instead, trying to keep it from trembling so violently from my fatigue—there would be time to deal with the Smoker later. That is, if Terrence didn't finish him off first. He certainly had the opportunity to. Another growl erupted to my other side and suddenly Terrence was standing protectively over me, his pale eyes narrowed, his lips pulled back into a warning snarl.

The two Hunters stared at each other for a long, tense moment. I wondered angrily why Terrence didn't attack, why he didn't try to immediately lunge to the defense as he always had in the past, why he had left the Smoker and this Hunter alive when I knew that he could have easily taken them down with or without my help after dispatching the other Infected.

Why wasn't he attacking?

The Smoker coughed again, this time more urgently, and Terrence grabbed my arm, pulling me back and pointing down the alleyway in the direction we had come from without dropping his gaze from the other Hunter. I took the hint and limped down it as fast as my screaming muscles could go, not even bothering to glance behind me until I was safely around the corner, collapsed on my butt on the cold, hard concrete a few feet away from a huddled, half decayed corpse that strangely did not upset me as it would have been mere minutes earlier. Terrence backed out of the alleyway a few moments later, hastily retrieving his backpack on the other side before coming to me, hardly letting his eyes leave the two Infected still apparently down the alleyway.

I tried to stand, understanding that he wanted us to get moving immediately, but I just couldn't. I had nothing left. The effort of even thinking of standing alone simply set me into another coughing fit, this one the worst I had yet experienced in the short two days of travel. Terrence dropped down to his knees besides me, digging out the water bottle in the front of my coat and uncapping it so I could choke down some liquid to calm my dry throat, glancing over his shoulder so often it looked as if he had a nervous tic.

But nothing came after us.

Yet.

As soon as my coughing subsided enough to be bearable, he tossed the empty water bottle to the side, hesitantly swept his gaze over me, and then snatched up my katana, tucked it away, and swept my shuddering form up into his arms. The move surprised me enough that I cried out, only to start another brief relapse into a coughing fit once again, disabling me from furiously, indignantly ordering him to put me down. No way was I going to be carried like this, like a kid, like a helpless little…

His grip tightened on me as my coughing stopped enough for me to shakily open my mouth to tell him just what I thought about this new development. I hesitated long enough to look up into his face, only to find his expression contorted in a mixture of guilt and sadness and tears streaming down his cheek, mingling with the blood that had splattered all over his front. He was smearing more of the blood all over me as his arms and hands were soaked in it, but I noticed none of that now. I shut my mouth and lowered my gaze, and relaxed just long enough for my exhaustion to overwhelm me and send me into unconsciousness.

I woke up to being gently set down onto something soft and found that it was almost completely dark around me. I heard movement rustling to my side as Terrence momentarily drew away, and then a click sounded and was immediately followed by the pale light of a large camping lantern that flooded the small space. Blinking blearily through my tiredness and the light, I looked around to find that Terrence had brought us into a small, slightly cramped room furnished with hastily constructed wooden shelving and boxes of what looked like supplies. I blinked a bit more and then noticed that there was a red steel door set into a wall across from where I sat on one of the two sleeping bags.

A safe house. One I hadn't been to before.

I hadn't seen one of these in ages.

Oh, the memories.

I was distracted from noticing any further details as Terrence dropped onto his knees next to me and I turned my attention to him. Before I could even open my mouth to speak, he grabbed my shoulders with shaking, bloodied hands, his face contorted in fear and anger and desperation and guilt thrown into stark relief by the unnatural glare of the camping lamp as he looked me up and down. The tears had dried up long ago, but I saw the trails still embedded against his gray skin. He opened his mouth and let out a helpless wail and I knew intuitively what he wanted to say.

"S'okay," I mumbled through lips that felt unrelenting and a throat that felt like cotton. I made an effort to smile, raising a hand filled with lead to stroke his cheek. "M'fine. I understand."

But what exactly did I understand? Did I understand why he had risked both our lives so recklessly in a fight against an unnaturally large group of special Infected that technically outnumbered us three to one? Did I understand why he had ruthlessly destroyed the two Hunters unlucky enough to face him, only to so deliberately leave a Hunter and a Smoker alive in our wake? Did I understand why he had stopped me from attacking them?

I thought I did. I thought it had been because he, too, was feeling the same as I realized I felt right now—I wanted desperately to see another living creature again. I loved Terrence, I loved being with him, I loved him more than I had ever loved anyone or anything. But the isolation we were facing was taking its toll. I needed to see the signs of other life. I craved it. Maybe he was feeling the same way. Maybe the sight of seeing another Hunter like him, at least by circumstance, other men who had been affected by the same, horrendous strain of the virus that had destroyed the world…maybe he…

But then why had he killed the other Hunters so easily? Why had he bothered to drag us into the fight in the first place? What in this city of hell was his reasoning?

As exhausted and as in pain as I was right then, I suddenly wasn't very sure I knew the reason to anything anymore.

He butted his forehead gently against mine and I blinked out of my troubled thoughts, smiling waveringly as I weakly loosened the scarf constricted uncomfortably around my neck.

It didn't matter his reason. I knew he regretted being so reckless. I knew he would never forgive himself for getting lost in whatever reason had drawn him to the fight, because it had put me in unnecessary danger.

And that was fine. Fine. I felt like I understood, even if I couldn't explain exactly why.

"You okay?"

He spread his arms half-heartedly, but despite the amount of blood covering him, I didn't notice any wounds or deep tears in his clothing. Yes, he was okay. We both were. Amazingly, considering what he had gone up against.

"Don't…ever…do that…again," I coughed.

He nodded widely in agreement, his facial expression twisted in guilt and self-disgust.

I broadened my smile for his sake, gently brushing my thumb against his upper lip, lingering on the still visible nick from when he had clawed at himself all those weeks ago.

"Sleep," I muttered feebly. He nodded again. He turned away long enough to pull the other sleeping bag to us and hurriedly unzipping, tucking around both of us as tightly as he could. He unzipped his jacket and wrapped his bloodied arms around me, pulling me into his warmth against his chest. My exhausted body accepted the opportunity to continue recuperating without hesitance, but my dreams were edged with nightmares of blood and death and claws.

We left early the next morning, and despite my best efforts, Terrence had to carry me again. I had been half tempted to tell him that we were going to wait a day or two while I tried to regain my strength enough so I could carry my own weight. But something about the way he acted stilled me enough for me to swallow my pride and stubbornness. It was as if he was nervous. Anxious.

I thought I had a vague idea why. But it wasn't until midday when I was idly looking over his shoulder as he briskly paced down the street towards our destination that I saw the faintest, fleeting movement on a rooftop a few blocks behind us. The fluid, graceful movement of a creature I could recognize all too well.

My heart leapt into my throat and I glanced up at Terrence. He looked down at me, his pale eyes confirming what I was beginning to very clearly realize.

We were being followed.

* * *

**Author's Babble:** Wow, I like these polls. Y'all give me such great responses! It's fun reading what y'all have to say. (And yes, I do actually say "y'all" in life. I have no idea why.) So let's go again!

_Who's your favorite character so far? Who's your least favorite character so far? _

Be expecting those questions again after we've introduced most of the entire cast, but that won't be for a while. And, because I'm going to forget before the next update and thus the next poll:

_What's your favorite chapter so far? What's your least favorite chapter so far?_


	18. Sleep

**Chapter Seventeen**

Sleep

I woke up cold.

I couldn't really remember the last time I had woken up this cold, and the reason for the coldness was soon very starkly obvious to me, even with my mind dazed by sleep and my body numbed by the significantly low temperature.

Terrence was gone from his place at my side.

Immediately, I slid up into a sitting position, blinking furiously against the darkness and my tiredness and looking around for any sign of him, refusing to believe that he would leave me alone like this in the middle of the night in a partially fortified motel room with the stark threatening of danger just on the other side of the door. It took a few moments of orientation, but eventually I spotted the dark figure crouched at the heavily boarded up window where a small sliver of pale moonlight trickled into the musty room. I glanced down at the wristwatch I had relieved from a jewelry store and saw that it was well past midnight. We had arrived at the motel around sunset, and I had fallen asleep the moment we had settled in for the night, too exhausted from the stress and travel of the day and from the never abating after effects of my sickness. I thought Terrence had done the same, but I had the suspicious feeling that that hadn't been the case in the slightest.

I knew why. I understood why. But it still frustrated me.

Shivering against the cold despite being fully dressed, I plucked up several of the warmed blankets I had been sleeping on and wrapped them around my shoulders before struggling out of the pile of bedding encasing me. The sound of my movements alerted my companion, and I saw his head swivel around to watch as I hobbled across the small distance to his side like a giant boulder of blankets. As I settled with my back against the wall, huddled in my shell, he eyed me warily with eyes wide open with stress and worry and shadowed with so much exhaustion it made me more tired just looking at him.

"Anything out there?"

He regarded me silently for several moments before turning his gaze back to the small sliver of window and shrugging in a way that reluctantly confirmed my suspicions.

I reached out and tugged at his coat sleeve until he looked at me again. "You need to get some sleep."

He shook his head firmly, just as I knew he would. I scowled.

"You've barely slept the past three nights—don't look at me like that, zombie man, I can tell when you haven't had enough sleep." I paused as he turned his gaze away, scowling bitterly, not at me but at himself. "All right, look. You _need_ to get some sleep. What good are you to either of us if you're so exhausted you can't even think straight? If we end up getting into another fight, how the hell do you expect us to make it out alive if you keep going on like this?"

He grunted and glared down at his hands. They weren't covered in blood anymore, thankfully; several days earlier, we had passed by a local clothing outlet and found him a new coat to replace the one he had bloodied up in the fight four days previous. But that fight had cost us more than clothing.

I was now one hundred percent positive that we were being followed, and I had a pretty good idea what was following us and the most likely the reason as to why. I hadn't seen exactly what shadowed our every move by an approximate distance of two blocks, but we both knew all the same. There was something very distinctive about the way Hunters moved across rooftops, and once or twice I caught the characteristic, low pitched warning growl or a muffled cough coming from that general direction. I knew that the growls weren't coming from Terrence—he hadn't growled since the fight, and before that, he hadn't growled since before I got sick. And I knew that the cough weren't coming from me. That was just obvious. I also knew that I wasn't just imagining things; whenever the sounds reached my ears, even if they were so faint I second guessed myself and debated on them having resulted from paranoia, Terrence would always react in some way, whether by pausing in step or glancing furtively over his shoulder or swallowing painfully. I knew that he was trying not to worry me, but I was worried all the same. Although honestly, I was more worried about him than our elusive stalkers.

He was definitely more worried about me, though. And I knew why.

By now, I was probably the only survivor left in the city. There was very little life left in the forest of concrete and steel and glass, whether Infected or normal. We hadn't even run into any common type Infected, and we had been out on the street nearly a week, although I was sure that was also mostly Terrence's doing as he could easily sense creatures up ahead and steer us around accordingly. But it was unnerving and haunting walking down those empty streets. It felt like we were trapped in a never-ending nightmare. The only thing that kept me sane in the silence was Terrence and our need to survive and keep moving. To try to ignore what stalked us. What hunted us.

What hunted _me_.

I was the last survivor, after all.

I sighed, blowing out visible breath into the frigidness. We would have to do something about our stalkers. We had hoped that they would lose interest eventually, that we would possibly go so far out of their living area, their territory, that they would give up and leave us alone. But it was a dull hope. It was also confusing. Why had they not tried to make their move yet? Why had they not attempted to get closer, to try to pick us off? Were they the ones waiting for _us_ to give up? Or were they waiting until the two of us were so exhausted we couldn't go any further?

I was almost to the point that I just didn't care anymore. I was fed up with this game. I wanted it to end. I hated being hunted like this for so tediously long a time. It had almost gotten to the point that I wanted to storm back down the street towards our hunters, find them, and try to shake some sense out of them while I demanded to know their reasoning for following us without any definite sign of purpose.

It would have been utterly fruitless, I know. But I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't like being hunted. And as Terrence was too frightened to leave me alone even for a few moments to deal with the problem as I knew he probably very well could (as long as he had enough sleep beforehand), even with me safely tucked away in a safe house or behind closed doors in a partially fortified motel room, I figured I would have to do something about it eventually.

But first, I had to deal with his stubbornness.

"Sleep, Terrence," I said quietly, my breath coming out in soft clouds of white. It was cold. Very cold. Or at least, colder than it had been since the beginning of this whole mess. "If not for yourself, then at least do it for me. We're as safe here as we'll ever be—" I nodded my head at the heavily barricaded and securely locked door "—so stop being a stubborn idiot and do what's best for _you_ for once."

He twisted his head just enough to look at me in a sideways glance. A corner of my mouth twitched upward into a small smile, and I spread my arms and my blankets enough to send a shiver of fresh coldness into my core. He saw my shiver and sighed in defeat, nodding his head slowly as he shuffled into my embrace, adding his consistent warmth to the meager amount of warmth I had built up beneath my blankets. We huddled there for a small while before I realized I still wasn't getting enough warmth, and we moved back to the nest of bedding we had piled in the corner, burrowing under as many layers as possible.

"Sleep, Terrence," I muttered again quietly into the muffled warmth, noticing that his eyes were still reflecting the light of the moon as he peered at the window anxiously. He glanced at me guiltily, and I reached up to pull his head down closer to mine. After a moment, he stopped resisting, stopped trying to glance in the direction of the only entrances into our momentary shelter and settled his face into my shoulder, his arms locked around my back. What seemed mere minutes later, his breathing had slowed and deepened, and I knew that at last his exhaustion had taken over him in his moment of relenting.

I rested my face in his hair, trying to warm my nose, which seemed to have frozen slightly in my brief venture from the bed. His long hair smelled of sweat and dirt and vaguely blood, but the underlying smell of him, the smell I had come to know so well from his apartment, was there as well, and it was strangely comforting. The blankets and sleeping bags and pillows covered my head, sealing in as much of our warmth as possible, but still I shivered. I was still tired, still worn out, but it was too cold, and I could not find it in myself to fall asleep.

_Pathetic,_ I thought to myself bitterly. It wasn't even winter yet, and I could barely stand the temperature as was. Never mind the fact that I was being hunted like a deer stalked by wolves, I was skin and bones with nothing but a restless Hunter and a dim hope to protect me from the cruelty of nature in the long months ahead. Not that I didn't appreciate Terrence. I loved him. But love only got you so far…

I hugged his much larger body closer to me with arms that trembled uncontrollably from the cold while Terrence's warmth slowly began to spread into my tired muscles. This felt so…impossible. Not just the cold, long night ahead of us, not just the fact that we were being hunted, but just the entire situation in general. This whole struggle forward. Society was gone. Everything we had known our entire life no longer existed, and if it did, then it was by now near unrecognizable. Despite all my self-viewed toughness and independence, I really was just not cut out for this life. This world. There was nothing for us to do except…survive. Fairly important, sure, but nothing but basic survival was not what I had been raised my entire life to handle. What were we surviving _for_? What future did we have…?

"It doesn't matter," I whispered to myself firmly, my voice, slightly hoarse from the cold, muffled by Terrence's hair. It seemed as if the words were drawn out from within me, a vague echo of a memory I could not recall. It made me feel better, though. Marginally. "I don't care about that anymore. It doesn't matter. I don't care."

And for the first time, I believed it.

A muffled cough sounded suddenly through the door, picked up by my well-experienced hearing that had been honed specifically for that sound over the past several days. Immediately, I stiffened, my eyes wide and my breath caught in my throat, ears straining in the silence.

Another cough. Terrifyingly familiar. Close. Very close.

Much too close.

Almost as if it were on the other side of the door.

As if in response to the thought, I heard the distinctive, metallic sound of a locked doorknob being tested.

A cold grip of steel wrapped around my heart.

Oh my lord.

It knew to try to open the door. And it was right on the other side.

Suddenly, the reinforced barriers and barricade didn't seem all that protective.

My mind went as numb as my skin against the cold. I continued to listen silently in the darkness for another haunting sound, my senses and body paralyzed by doubt and a thin, nervous strain of fear that seemed likely to snap at the next sound. The silence around me seemed to stretch as I waited for another telltale cough. For another attempt at testing the meager defenses of our shelter. But nothing came again. It made me hope fleetingly that the sounds were just my overactive imagination playing games on my tired mind. Or just the wind. Usually, people blamed these things on the wind, and while terrifying, it was hardly life-threatening. Hardly anything to worry about. Even though wind didn't really jiggle doorknobs like that. Even though the wind didn't sound like the familiar, hacking, stifled cough of a creature I had met one too many times.

After several tense moments of inner turmoil, I relaxed ever so lightly, half-convinced that I was just hearing things after all. It was nothing. Nothing. Just my imagination. Just my exhaustion. After all, wouldn't Terrence have awoken to the sounds? He had better hearing than I did, and his nerves about it were on a higher rung than mine.

But then, he had hardly had any sleep the past three nights. Maybe even the past four nights. He was no doubt exhausted. I doubted that even a Tank dancing the can-can on the doorstep would stir him very quickly. Not that I really wanted him awake. If he did wake up to these threatening sounds, then he would probably never let himself fall asleep again.

I swallowed painfully around the dry lump in my throat, and then I paused and rolled my eyes. I was being silly. Not just because of the frantic thought of a Tank doing the can-can, but because of my paranoia. Even if it was what I thought it was hanging out on the other side of that wall, there was no way it was getting in here without some amazing ability to cause some serious damage. The windows had been boarded up twice over on both sides and secured with bars. The door was reinforced and triple locked and had more than a couple pieces of furniture crammed against it. We were safe. Nothing was getting at us. I was just being paranoid.

After a few moments of similarly encouraging thoughts, I cautiously reached up two fingers and pulled down the blankets covering my face just enough for me to raise my head and steal a glance towards the window for no other reason than I wanted to reassure myself that there was nothing there.

My heart missed a beat.

So much for reassurance.

The sliver of moonlight had disappeared. Where it had once been was nothing but blackness now, and not the blackness of a moon hindered by clouds. It was a blackness interrupted by a single, dim flicker of reflected light on a single, watchful eye.

A perfect image right out of a nightmare.

My one-armed grip on Terrence tightened and my other hand clenched into a white fist on the blankets as I stared at it, too intrigued and flat out unnerved to look away, to even move. A similar vision flashed through my mind of a dead man's apartment and a hooded, familiar form framed in light at the window to a self-made prison. But this was different. It felt different. I sensed somehow that it couldn't see me. Not really. It didn't know for certain that it was being watched right back. But I knew that it knew we were in here. I knew that it was one shadow out of the two that had been following us for half a week. I knew that it shouldn't have scared me any more than Terrence had when he had first watched me through the glass all those weeks and months ago.

But it did scare me. I don't know why. And that was the difference between now and that apartment from so long ago. Maybe somehow, in that time since first meeting Terrence, I had changed more than I realized.

I wasn't sure if it was a good change. What was so good about being paralyzed with fear?

I don't know how long the black shadow remained at the window and I stared back at it. It could have been seconds. Minutes. Hours. There was no such thing as time right then. I was only aware of any time at all passing by how my neck felt sore and my face began to grow numb from exposure to the cold, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. I guess I wanted to see what it was going to do. I wanted to make sure it didn't try anything stupid, something that would require me waking up Terrence whether I wanted to or not. I wanted to keep an eye on it as long as I possibly could, even though I knew there was another, I knew that it was not alone.

But eventually, the blackness moved away to the side. I heard another poorly stifled cough, followed by what could have been a soft, warning growl. Or simply the wind.

I wanted to believe it was the wind. I really did. But somehow, I wasn't quite able to fool myself.

I pulled the covers over my head as securely as I could and cowered into Terrence's oblivious warmth, my body no longer trembling from the cold but from something different. I didn't know why I was so afraid. I couldn't understand it. What happened to the reckless defiance that had saved my life so many times before? What happened to the cold impartiality that I had depended on for so long? I knew it was there. Somewhere. I had felt it during the fight in that alleyway not so long ago.

But where was it now?

I drifted in and out of a troubled sleep for the rest of the night, my mind troubled like it hadn't been for ages. Before I knew it, the pale moonlight streaming in from the crack in the window's defenses had been replaced by the soft, bright glow of the morning autumn sun. I almost wished that it went away. All I wanted to do was lay there, holding my Hunter to me securely in my arms, not having to face another day of endless travel in a dead city, of being hunted so patiently by creatures that did not seem in the least bit shy of coming so close when we were at our most defenseless.

I didn't tell Terrence about the incident when he at last awoke, several hours after the sun had fully risen. I didn't want to worry him. But the moment we stepped outside after eating a hasty breakfast from our supplies and packing up, it seemed somehow that he sensed it, whether he smelled something in the air or saw a physical sign that my eyes could not, I wasn't sure. But I sensed his increased agitation. His increased fear.

I reached out and slid my free hand into his, my other hand clutching my katana as it had every possible waking moment outside of shelter for the past several days. I smiled weakly when he looked over at me in surprise, his expression unable to lose the lines of stress and anxiety. I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure what to say. But after a moment, his fingers returned pressure on mine.

"Let's go, Terrence."

He cast one last glance around us, his brow furrowed and his mouth turned down into a worried frown. I tugged on his arm, and after a moment, he relented a partial step, enough to let me lead him onward in the direction we had been heading ever since leaving his apartment, the direction we hoped would lead us to success for our goal.

Our shadows followed. Terrence was still exhausted. And I was becoming more and more frustrated with being prey. With having felt fear so strongly the previous night when I had wanted to feel defiance and confidence. With watching my friend suffer and worry and berate himself endlessly for what I knew he saw as his mistake. It had been nearly five days since that fight in the alleyway. _Five days_. And we hadn't done a single thing to remedy it. _I_ hadn't tried a single thing to solve it.

That thought made me furious with myself. How could I have let this go on for so long? Weak and sick or not, that was no excuse. I had fought against the odds in worst situations. Me! The reckless leader who had pushed forward a seemingly handful of survivors to a vague, distant hope while facing a horde of thousands. The girl all the boys at school feared and respected because I was just as tough as they were. The survivor who had survived despite everything that had tried to take me down.

In the bright daylight of the crisp autumn morning, my fear was not allowed to take hold. I was angry now. Angry and determined, and growing more so with every step.

And still, our shadows followed. But if I could help it any, they wouldn't be following us for much longer.

* * *

**Author's Babble:** It's Halloween this weekend! Hope you all have a good one (those of you who celebrate it, anyway)! Any fun plans?

And now for poll time! _What do you think is up with whatever is stalking Eden and Terrence?_ Think they're out to try to eat her? Or maybe they want Terrence to join their club-I think they have jackets and everything. I like hearing theories! It amazes me how sometimes people can guess so very close to the actual thing...


	19. Plan

**Chapter Eighteen**

Plan

We crossed City Main around midday. It was the central freeway leading through the heart of the city's main business district, the metaphorical heart of the city. It was a long strip of road that housed everything from bank headquarters to extravagant casinos and five star restaurants, anything and everything you needed to make a big impression clustered around the life stream that the freeway. Six lanes of blacktop stretched for endless miles, overshadowed by the towering skyscrapers that now stood like monuments, like gravestones. They marked the place where the once hectic, sleepless vein of human life now lay dead and lifeless and littered with abandoned vehicles that stood in varying states of disrepair among the small huddled masses of corpses that were so far along the process of decay that it was impossible to tell if they had died Infected or not, alone and abandoned on that silent road to nowhere.

It was a depressing, forlorn scene. Another reminder of many of just how much the world had changed. We picked our way silently, nervously across the wide open expanse, following along for a mile or two, trying to look as small and unnoticeable as we could, until we reached the freeway exit that we knew would eventually lead us straight to our destination. We left that grim scene far behind us without a second glance back.

We just kept walking.

Walking. Walking. Always walking.

And our hunters followed.

Although the sight of City Main had been all but pretty, it had held at least one good sign for us. It meant that we were more than two thirds of the way to Little Beverly Hills. If things went well, we would reach our destination in a day or two. Maybe more, considering it had certainly taken us longer than we had expected to reach this far. But regardless, it was still a hopeful sign. It meant we were getting somewhere. It meant that possibly before the first snowfall hit, which would be any day now, we would find the shelter we needed to survive through the winter. Unless something else got to us first. Like the hunters on our tail that Terrence seemed determined to continue to ignore, even though he was doing a very poor job of it. Although it wasn't like I was doing much better in taking care of the problem. I was getting to the point that day where I was just too tired to care anymore, to try to continue thinking up a plan to deal with our rather pressing problem. My burning determination and anger from the morning had been abandoned in favor of energizing my legs rather than my hotheadedness. It was difficult to think about more than the cold and putting one tired foot in front of the other. If I was going to do anything, then my brain needed an epiphany of some sort. Any sort. It needed an idea, and it was to the point that I was almost willing to settle for practically anything.

Anything at all, despite the fact that I knew that that resolve was one of the first steps down the path to hell.

We stopped to rest a few miles away from the freeway, taking up temporary shelter in a gas station across from what looked like a burned out elementary school. Despite having slept the previous night, once we had stumbled into the partially ravaged, dusty interior, Terrence immediately sat down on the rug against the cashier's counter, his knees drawn up and his head in his hands. Instantly, I kneeled rather ungracefully at his side, my own exhaustion overwhelmed by worry and a tint of frustration. I didn't have to ask what was wrong. I already knew.

I looked around the small gas station hastily. The cashier's counter was the type where the only entrances were the door around to the side and the open customer window that was at the moment shut tight with reinforced glass. Probably more security than needed in this part of town, but I wasn't going to complain.

"Come on," I told him as I tugged at his arm, my voice hoarse from disuse and muffled by my scarf. He looked at me unhappily, his bloodshot, exhausted gaze blinking rapidly in an effort to keep open. "Come on, you idiot, stand up."

He did so grudgingly, and I pulled him after me around to the miraculously unlocked door leading into the secured cashier's box. I sat him down and left him looking after me in confusion as I ferreted around the store, gathering as many bagged food items and bottled drinks as I could hold in my small arms. When I returned to him, he was slumped up against a corner, his head bowed and his body lax. He started awake when I sat next to him and shrugged off my backpack, setting my gun and sword to the side. He sat up quickly, obviously attempting to conceal the fact that he had been asleep, stifling a yawn and poking halfheartedly at the pile of food I had deposited on the floor. Frowning, I reached out and grabbed his hand as he went to snag one of the many bags of Doritos I had brought him, and he looked up at me in bemused surprise.

"Terrence, as soon as you're done eating, you're taking a nap."

Startled, he blinked and stared at me in stunned silence for several moments. Then he furiously shook his head and pulled his hand away from me, jumping to his feet. And nearly falling over.

Despite my own weakness, I still had enough of a decent reaction time to reach out and latch onto his arm, steadying him enough to allow him to sit down, which he did so rather embarrassedly.

"Okay you, listen up," I told him crossly. "The Infection may have given you the ability to jump buildings, but it didn't make you a superhero, and even then, most superheroes need to sleep. You can't go on like this. You need to get some rest before we go any further, and you're going to get some rest right here, right now."

For the first time in weeks, he growled at me, but as I understood where his bad temper was coming from, I overlooked it, watching unfazed as he gestured in frustration around the narrow, dimly lit room, pointing to the door and the dingy window overhead.

"I know it's not secure, but it's the best we've got right now. Just one hour, Terrence, that's all I'm asking. Sleep for an hour and then we'll get right back on the road. I can keep watch until then…"

He shook his head furiously, and I thought I saw a glint of worry in his shadowed gaze as he pointed to me, poking at my winter coat with a claw. In spite of my efforts to remain stern and serious, I smiled slightly, playfully brushing him off.

"Hey, I'm fine, don't worry about it. I'm not the one who hasn't been sleeping the past four nights, thank you very much. I've been taking pretty good care of myself considering the situation. You, on the other hand, are doing a pretty good job of doing the exact opposite for yourself. So you're taking a nap. Right now. Or I'm going to go find some sleeping pills and stuff you full of them until you do."

He continued to eye me sulkily for several moments, drawing it out, acting as if he was still debating on saying no and just ignoring me as he very well could—there would be little I could do otherwise as throwing a fit would only waste time and refusing to move would only get him to carry me—but I knew I had already won. He had yet to say no to a straight out request from me if I badgered him enough about it, and I saw no reason for him to start now.

Sure enough, he settled resentfully back into his corner, glaring down at the bags of Doritos at his side as he nodded slowly. Smiling slightly, I plucked up one of the bags and pulled it open.

Half an hour later, he was curled up in the corner on the floor using our backpacks as pillows. Certainly not the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, but there was little else to use in the gas station and either way, he was so exhausted that he fell asleep almost immediately upon laying down. I smirked a bit at that. _Just like Charlie,_ I thought. _Always have to act tougher than you sometimes really are._

But while my companion slept, I had to find something to amuse myself, to keep myself from following suite. I didn't want to know what would happen if I fell asleep as well here in this hardly fortified shelter. So far, we had been lucky enough to be able to find decent housing for every night we had been on the street; it hadn't been too difficult. Enough people had attempted to fortify their homes and businesses that all it took was a little poking around and we would find something up to scratch. Many of the places were certainly flimsy compared to a full-blown safe house, but we figured that, even with being hunted, the time for those safe houses was beginning to pass. Those had been built to hold against hordes, against the thousands of Infected that had swarmed the city. But all those Infected were gone. It seemed that the security akin to the dead man's apartment from weeks ago would be enough to hold off those that remained. Unless we ran into a Tank. But then, even a safe house wouldn't do much if the Tank ended up smarter than most.

More to keep my mind off that than anything else, I paused to peruse the shelves I had been passing in my aimless patrol around the small gas station—I hated walking and knew that I should be conserving my energy, but I knew that if I sat down for any longer, I'd most likely be asleep before I knew it. Upon closer inspection, I found myself in the aisle containing a meager selection of over the counter medications. My eyes flickered around the small bottles and boxes leisurely, thinking that maybe I would just see if they had any stronger cough medication than the one I was currently using, which we had relieved from a grocery store a few days before. Not that it wasn't working; it was working fine. Better, in fact, than anything I had tried so far, and it didn't taste all that bad either. Maybe I would try to stock up on it, then.

I crouched down to get a better look at the options on the bottom shelf, thinking idly of my empty threat to force Terrence to sleep with sleeping pills, even though there most likely weren't any in a gas station, especially one so close to an elementary school.

And then it hit me. The plan. The epiphany I needed.

I stood up so quickly that I almost fainted from the sudden onslaught of lightheadedness. It took me a few moments of leaning against the shelves and clutching my head before I was able enough to stagger to the glass doors and crack them open enough to peer out, looking eagerly for something I had seen earlier when we had entered. Sure enough, I saw it on a small white sign hanging in old-fashioned style across the sidewalk practically next door, just beyond the gas pumps on the same side of the street. A pharmacy. It was luck beyond luck. It seemed most pharmacies were squished into clinics or hospitals or grocery stores nowadays in big cities like this; a lone pharmacy like that was a rarity. And just the type of rarity I needed.

I withdrew back into the gas station, my mind racing, building together a plan born out of desperation and frustration and fear. Yes, that was it. That was the way to go about it. It was a dim, feeble hope that would be banking on quite a few uncontrollable variables and wild assumptions, but it didn't seem like we had much choice. Terrence was too tired now to go after the hunters, and I was too weak to try to even catch them—I had a pretty good idea that they wouldn't hold still if I tried to go after them, as they would surely have to do if I were to have any chance at all. I could try to snipe them from afar, but that had always been Charlie's specialty; I had been the melee expert, and while I was fairly adept at handling my gun, that was more of a last ditch resort and comfort measure, possibly one that our seemingly intelligent Infected hunters would be expecting.

So there it was. It didn't seem like we had much of any other choice besides simply waiting for them to make their move. And that was unacceptable.

Besides, it was a very devious idea.

I hastily padded back to the door into the cashier's box, peering into the dim, narrow area at the dark form laying lax on the dirty linoleum and rugs. I was all for waking up Terrence and dragging him with me down to the considerably old-school pharmacy…until I saw him laying there, fast asleep, getting the rest he very much needed and deserved. I hesitated, brow furrowing. Then I glanced around the corner at the bright light streaming in from the front windows and door as my tired mind thought it out, weighing the options, trying to stifle the burning desire to implement my plan, to get things going, so that my reasoning and plain old common sense wouldn't be overshadowed.

I was very, _very_ tempted to go out there on my own. My hand strayed to the katana I had returned to my side for comfort after Terrence had fallen asleep. What was the worst that could happen, anyway? We hadn't seen any other Infected for days besides our elusive stalkers, and they didn't seem all _that_ intent on harming us. Me. Whatever. But those two Infected, no matter how harmless they had appeared to be so far, would be more than enough to take me down if I were to go out on my own.

Then there was the fact that even if I did survive to make the trip to the pharmacy and back on my own, if Terrence found out, he would probably never trust me on my own again.

Frustrated, I ground my teeth and paced up and down in front of the cashier's booth in an attempt to alleviate the new burst of energy that had accompanied the formulation of a plan. I felt more alive than I had in days. Weeks, even. Finally, something to do to break the monotony. Something that required me to put my brain to use, something that was so deliciously simple, but with a payoff that would be almost immediate, or at least sooner than any other goal we had set for ourselves thus far.

I found myself standing at the front door, my eyes roving over the lifeless street outside. I turned towards the direction of the pharmacy, calculating, judging, thinking. Remembering. I had been a natural born sprinter back in high school, the best in the state two years in a row. I had run distances like the one between the gas station and the pharmacy for morning warm ups without breaking a sweat or needing an extra breath. The distance was nothing to me.

But then, a lot had happened between then and now. I was starved and sick and immeasurably weakened. I hadn't run any further than a few feet for weeks now. In fact, that fight with the Hunters had been the only time I had really got my blood pumping since before I got sick. I was out of shape. Even such a short distance run like the one I was contemplating would be possible suicide. A Hunter could leap faster, farther. A Smoker could snag quicker. I would most likely be dead before I knew it, and then where would Terrence be? What new hell would I put him through if I ended up killed from my own recklessness while he had let his guard down at my own urging?

The prospect was enough to kill off my burning desire to tempt fate. I whirled away from the windows and went back to pacing the partially ravaged aisles, snatching up a bag of chips and munching on them as I walked in order to give me something to do. I would just have to wait for Terrence to either wake up or the hour—and one hour only, not a minute more, I had said—that I had promised him for his nap. I glanced down at my watch, lighting it up with its friendly green glow so I could read the numbers. He still had about forty-five minutes. Of course, he wouldn't really know the difference here or there, but I had been the one to tell him to sleep in the first place. It would be simply foolish to go back on my own argument now.

So I waited. And I paced.

On what must have been my hundredth circuit around the small interior and after prying open one of the handy, flimsy store flashlights to use the dark bathroom in the back, I paused to look out across the dead field of the burned out school. For some reason, that sight in particular sent a sharp pang of sadness through me. It didn't seem that any children had survived the Infection, whether as survivors or Infected. I had not seen a single person who was younger than late teens since the whole zombie fiasco had begun. I hadn't even really seen many child-sized corpses, not that I had really been looking for such a morbid sight. It made me wonder if kids just didn't have the strength it took to survive being sick with the disease and had thus died quickly, and they would most likely be the ones first picked off and accidentally left behind if they had somehow miraculously been immune and attempted to escape the city. People did things they wouldn't normally do in situations like these.

I wasn't too sure why that made me so sad. I hadn't ever really been a "kid person," which perhaps had something to do with being the youngest in my family. But either way, I did hope that somewhere, somehow, children had survived and would continue on doing so—for whatever reason, the world seemed terribly empty and bleak without them.

But maybe I had just been out of touch with other people for too long. I guess somehow along the line I had become overtly sentimental.

I didn't really have to think too hard about why. It didn't matter either way.

A plaintive cry sounded to my side and I jumped, jarred out of my musings. It took me a few moments to recognize the voice and realize that it had come from Terrence. I rushed back to the door, only to practically collide with him as he came stumbling out, rubbing his eyes furiously and looking around. He stopped still when he saw me, looking at me in surprise and fear, and then I thought I saw his entire form sag, his face crashing into what looked like relief.

"Terrence, what's wrong?" I demanded immediately.

He looked almost sheepish for a minute, and then he shook his head and turned back to retrieve our backpacks. Confused, I followed after him, plucking up my backpack from his offering grasp and slinging my gun over my shoulder, trying to read the expression on his face in the process, which was made difficult by both the darkness and his subtle, confusing attempts to keep his face turned away.

"Hey, what's wrong, what was all that yelling about?" I asked again, stepping in his way as he made to head out the door.

He looked at me and rolled his eyes, grabbing me gently and turning me forward so he could herd me out in front of him. As soon as I was out the door and recovered from my surprise, I skipped forward a few steps from his grasp and turned around, scowling at him.

"Whoa, hey, cut it out. You scared me half to death shouting out like that, and it hasn't even been a whole hour yet since you fell asleep. What was all that about?"

Terrence looked at me sidelong and shrugged half-heartedly. Then he gave me a small half smile and rolled his eyes again, tapping his head with a finger.

"Yeah, that tells me pretty much nothing. Did you have a bad dream or something?"

He shook his head, starting off towards the door. I hurriedly followed him, pulling up my scarf around my mouth as we returned to the crisp afternoon air. He immediately started down the street in the direction we were going, and my attempts to figure out what had woken him so abruptly and loudly were abandoned for the time being—we were going in the direction of the pharmacy. We were going to pass it. And the thought of my plan and burning determination that came with it wiped away all else.

"Hey, we need to stop in here," I said, skipping ahead of him and stopping in front of the barred glass front door to the small building. I glanced back to see Terrence's questioning expression. "I…want to see if there are any pain pills or cold medicine or something. You know, just in case we need stuff like that."

I pulled at the handle to the door, only to find it locked. It didn't faze me in the slightest. I shrugged off the gun from my shoulder and, just as I had done so many weeks ago, slammed the butt end of it into the glass.

It bounced back and nearly hit me in the face.

"Damn, Plexiglas," I muttered in frustration, not to mention embarrassment. I stood back and glared at the door. Not even a nick. "Well, that didn't go as well as I hoped."

I heard a soft laughing sound behind me and turned in surprise to see Terrence smiling at me. It wasn't a sound I had heard come from him before, but I had little time to contemplate it. He winked at me and then took a step back, looking up at the top of the building, his eyes scanning back and forth. When he looked back down at me, he gently lifted the gun from my grasp and pointed to me and then to the small alcove that housed the front door. I took the hint and backed up into the feeble shelter, watching him curiously as he tossed his backpack next to me, slung the gun over his chest, backed up a few steps, and took the wall with a running start. I had forgotten how fast and how swift he could move up a building when he wanted to. In a few heartbeats, he was up and over and out of my sight.

I resisted the stupid urge to run out into the street to try to get back far enough to get a good view of what he was doing on top of that one story building, but he had told me to wait in the alcove for a reason. He had also taken the gun for a reason, so when I heard the first shot, I certainly jumped at the deafening sound splitting through the quiet of the city, but I didn't necessarily panic. Although I did wonder if anything nasty would be attracted by the loud sound.

I waited patiently and several minutes later I heard someone fumbling with the lock on the door. I stood back and watched as it opened and Terrence appeared in the doorway, smirking in a fairly self-pleased manner. It made me grin; it was good to see that his small nap had apparently given him enough energy to put him in a good mood.

"Very nice," I said, pulling out a flashlight and stepping into the tiny store. "I guess I was wrong—you're a pretty good superhero. Now, let's see." I paused, shining the light around us, scanning the shelves that held bottles and boxes and everything in between, ranging from vitamin supplements to mouth wash. But the stuff I was looking for was probably in the back room where the prescription medication was kept, waiting to be prepared by the pharmacists. Only the pharmacists weren't there any more.

"Hey, check out the cough drops and over the counter pain killers for me. I'm…going to check the back to see if there's anything interesting. I'll be quick."

If Terrence found anything strange about that request, he didn't show it. He immediately went off down the shelves, looking back and forth to try to find what I wanted him to find. I watched him for a moment, thinking, reflecting. And then I turned and headed to the back room.

It was much more organized and boring, not to mention quite a bit larger. Everything was organized according to the drug's generic name, which told me practically nothing. Maybe this wasn't that great of an idea after all. I wasted a few precious minutes skimming the shelves in front of me, only to realize that there were definitely way too many medications to even be able to guess right. For all I knew, I could be pulling heart medication instead of what I really wanted.

Frustrated, I stood back, skimming everywhere else around me, checking out the counters. My flashlight passed an orderly stack of thick, short books on the counter where they prepared the medication and, my interest peaked, I stepped towards them, pulling off the one on top and looking at it in the harsh light.

A drug guide. Well. That would work.

I flipped it open. A good majority of it was just various medications listed in alphabetical order with all pertaining information underneath them. But I couldn't go through every single one. That would take up way too much time. I leafed forward to the front and my heart leapt. Perfect. Drug categories. And one of the categories was Sedatives.

Maybe my plan would work after all.

I returned to the front store area a few minutes later to find Terrence holding several bottles of painkillers and packages of cough drops. He gave me a half grin and held them out to show me.

"Perfect," I said brightly. "We'll take whatever we can. And probably some of these bandages over here…"

He nodded in agreement, and then pointed at the back room from where I had come.

I shrugged, and the bottles I had relieved from the shelves in the back room dug into my back slightly through the bulky backpack. I was on the verge of telling him what I was planning, what my reason for stopping by the pharmacy even was. But for some reason, the words just didn't come out. Perhaps I was too tired. Perhaps…perhaps I wasn't too sure he would agree with it. For the first time, I considered that maybe the reason he hadn't done anything about our hunters was the same reason he had helped them in the first place—and it was a reason I didn't understand.

But I was too tired to really care right then. And besides, I had a plan. A pretty good plan.

Something had to be done. Right?

I smiled at him innocently and shrugged. "Nah, nothing too interesting back there. Now come on, let's get going, we need to find shelter pretty soon."

* * *

**Author's Babble:** I loved the answers to the previous poll! There were two people who came the closest to guessing correctly while some of you…well, it was just awesome all around for one reason or another. Certainly some pretty interesting (and entertaining) ideas put forth that would make good stories. We should be finding out the truth in the next chapter or two. Now. On to the next poll question!

_If any one, and only one, scene was to be illustrated, which scene would you like to see, either in comic format or single illustration or otherwise?_ Not that anything is getting illustrated since honestly I do not have much time. Just wondering.


	20. Cover

**Chapter Nineteen**

Cover

Cloud cover settled in shortly before sunset. It came in a rush during the last few hours of the day and blocked out the remnants of daylight and the oncoming light of the pale moon, dousing the city in stifled blackness. They were dark clouds. Threatening. Enough so that we decided to find shelter earlier than we normally would have done.

That was fine with me. The sooner the better.

The night's choice of residence turned out to be a small church on the corner of a residential neighborhood, not too far away from a shopping center we raided for food for dinner. The small religious center seemed to have been partially converted into a somewhat secured shelter—like the motel from the night before, the windows and all other means of entry had been heavily boarded up, save for a small back door hidden in a far corner in the back. Sleeping bags and random personal belongings and camping supplies littered the floors on the inside in between the rows of pews, scattered about rather haphazardly. Much of the religious paraphernalia had seemingly been removed from their usual places and stored in the corner in the front of the chapel, but many of the things were upturned and laying on their sides or sporting missing pieces and cracked faces. It looked as if those who had been there last had left in a great hurry and a great mess, but I was relieved to see that besides an unhealthy amount of blood smeared on the walls and floor, at least there weren't any corpses. On the inside, anyway. The area surrounding it had its fair share of decay.

We climbed up a small staircase in a back room to the second floor, closing the door and barricading it on the way through. The outside interior of the first floor may have been protected, but there was always the chance something would find its way through, and we wanted to be extra sure. The upstairs windows had also been secured, and the loft was a bit less messy and included, to our immense relief, a somewhat dwindled supply of food, extra bedding, and, as I had come to greatly appreciate when it was present, a camping cooking stove.

It was perfect, just what I needed for the next part of my plan.

But that was for after dinner.

"Eaten enough?"

Terrence sat his bowl down and leaned back against the wall with a sigh, smiling guiltily and looking as content as he could in the present circumstances, albeit still exhausted. We had cooked up as many cans of stew as we could get our hands on, more than I knew we needed, but even then, Terrence had managed to eat most of it. He had an unusually large appetite, even for a guy, which was certainly saying something as I had grown up with brothers and guy friends and knew just what sort of large appetites many guys generally had. However, there was just enough stew left to fill another bowl, which I hastily did under the curious eye of my companion.

"No, it's not for me," I said, rolling my eyes, answering the stupid, bemused grin on his face. I stood, and the weight of the pills in my pocket seemed to hang heavily against my thigh even though they couldn't have weighed more than a few grams all together. I had slipped some in there earlier under the ruse of unpacking my backpack and getting out my usual cold medication when we had arrived. I had yet to tell Terrence about what I was planning. I wasn't sure why I was being so sneaky about it. What was the reason to hide what I was thinking? It wasn't like he was doing anything about our situation. If I didn't do something now, then it seemed nothing would get done…until it was too late, anyway.

Still, it was with an uneasy feeling as I faced him, balancing the bowl of food carefully in my hands, and debated on what to say to him next.

"I'm…going to stick this outside," I said, almost wincing at the pathetic explanation. It didn't make me feel any better when Terrence's expression turned from curious surprise to a look that told me he thought I was crazy. He leaned forward, eyeing me carefully, the question on his face utterly obvious.

I took a deep breath, fighting between the lie and the truth. In the end, neither came out. "Terrence, I—why haven't you done anything about the Infected following us?"

One of the many questions that had been so long time in coming burst forth before I had time to think about it. Immediately, Terrence's expression fell, and I thought I saw something close off behind his eyes. Almost as if a part of him had shut down. It was a vaguely familiar expression. One I knew I had seen before from him. And it was so sudden that it took me a few moments to process what I wanted to say next.

"I didn't mean…I wasn't blaming you," I added hastily, shifting the weight of the bowl of food between hands. Even as I said the words, I knew that they didn't address the truth behind his sudden change in attitude. "I just…wondered why…just…never mind."

I sighed, losing what little energy I could spare in driving forward the argument. I suddenly felt weary. Ready and willing to give up. The questions I wanted to ask—whether or not the two Infected following us were for sure from the fight a week ago, whether or not Terrence actually knew why they were following us, why he had even bothered to help them in the first place—dissipated completely. I had nothing left in me to keep me talking. That was it, then. That was why I hadn't told him what I was planning—if he disagreed, it would only take valuable time and energy to try to understand why. Energy that I did not have. For the first time, I felt the definitive leak of exhaustion and weariness at having a companion who couldn't talk in a way that didn't force me to think more than I had to. It was shameful, and I felt guilty, almost as if I was being unappreciative of everything he had done for me. I wanted to say something more, I wanted to keep plowing forward as I would have done before. But instead, I simply turned and headed down the stairs. A scuffling and quick, heavy footsteps behind me told me that Terrence was following unbidden, and I saw the light of our flashlight light up the stairs from behind me as I carefully made my way down. I kept my eyes turned from his face, though, even as he hesitantly moved aside the barriers we had shoved against the door leading into the chapel and the back door leading outside, and I tried not to think at how strange it was for him to not continue questioning me, for him to not attempt to figure out what I was up to. Maybe he was tired, too. Tired, of trying to figure out how to get across to me the words he could no longer say.

I told him to wait at the door and keep an eye out, reassuring him that I would only go a few feet out into the near darkness. Then, raising my scarf around the lower part of my face to try to prevent breaking out into a coughing fit, I stepped out and carefully rested the bowl down upon the cold, lifeless pavement just at the edge of the flashlight's range, hesitated, and then quickly, smoothly transferred the pills in my pocket into the food in the bowl, mixing them with the serving spoon I had used to dole up the stew. I was quite sure there was enough of a dosage in there to knock out a horse, taking into consideration that fact that the food might inactivate some of it before it reached anyone's stomach. If it ever did.

Hopefully, it would.

The deed done, I stood and paused for a moment to stare out into the darkness, breathing slowly, my breath forming puffs of white mist that were illuminated by the pale flashlight cutting through the black. I felt so small suddenly. I felt…I felt as if I were trapped again in my mind. In my sickness. But there was no waking up from this dream. I wrapped my arms around me, shivering and staring with tired eyes. The darkness seemed to encompass me, pressing down, swirling about like the teasing, frigid wind that had brought in the storm.

What was I _doing_?

I looked down at the bowl of drugged food, feeling numb with cold and disbelief. How had this idea even come to me? And how…how could I expect it to work? There were so many loose variables. So many things that could go wrong. That could not even happen. What if the creatures hunting us didn't even notice the meager offering? What if they weren't hungry? What if they were, and the ate the food, and the medication ended up killing them?

I felt my throat constrict. It felt as if I would be possibly killing Terrence, as if our hunters were on the same level as he was in my mind. But that was stupid. Foolish. I would never do anything to hurt Terrence, let alone anything that could even remotely kill him, and out of all the hundreds—thousands—of Infected I had encountered, he had been the only one I had seen to retain his humanity. These things following us…no, they couldn't be the same. What were the odds they somehow shared whatever trait Terrence had that had preserved the person he was before the infection?

But it hadn't seemed like he had been human at first, had it? It had taken him weeks to get this far back to what he had once been. It had taken days for him to even act human enough for me to see him as being a person. For all I knew, maybe there were more Infected out there like him. A lot more. More who had somehow, someway, found a way to retain a miniscule, glorious, hugely significant thread of their sanity.

And if that was the case, would this and everything I had done that was like it…be considered murder?

I felt something heavy rest on my shoulder and I whirled around, nearly losing balance and falling over if not for the large hand that reached out to grip my arm, steadying me. I blinked and looked up into the concerned expression of my friend, my Hunter, and I realized that for some stupid reason, I was close to tears.

"I'm fine," I said hastily, giving him a wane smile and passing my arm across my eyes. "Just the cold…and you know, I'm tired and all. Makes my eyes water." I looked down at the bowl at my feet. The steam from the once hot stew had started to fade as the cold seeped in through it, chilling it like a refrigerator. I turned away from it and looked back towards the direction of the open door. "Let's go back inside and get some sleep."

Only I didn't sleep that night. Not really. I couldn't. I was exhausted and aching all over, and my mind and body pleaded for sleep, but I just couldn't manage to drift off into unconsciousness. It seemed hours that I lay there, trying not to toss and turn too much in order to keep from waking Terrence who, after much blatant demanding and begging on my part, had fallen asleep shortly after we had piled together every clean sleeping bag and pillow we could find and turned in. Eventually, though, I found that I couldn't lie there any longer. I had to get up.

Luckily, Terrence's grip on me tonight wasn't that difficult to carefully wiggle out of without disturbing him, and with a sleeping bag wrapped tightly around my heavily clothed form, I carefully plucked up the flashlight from where I had left it at my side and picked my way through the darkness to where the single window sat overlooking the back of the church. Not that there was really any light to see anything. For all I knew, I was just staring at wood. But it at least gave me the feeling that I was…doing something.

_Really can't sit still, can I,_ I thought to myself with a sigh, searching the black. At least I wouldn't be encountering any scenes from a horror movie tonight unless there was a really, really tall Infected with detachable eyes or something. Not that I would be able to see it even if there was.

I'd certainly hear it, though. Hopefully.

I rested my forehead against the wood, ignoring the fact that I had started to shiver with only my clothing and a sleeping bag to guard against the coldness. I didn't have time for worrying about temperature. I needed to think. I had to understand. Somehow. I had put off facing this problem for too long already.

So. Terrence had led us to that fight for a reason. He had been so focused in doing so. So determined. And then he had had us leave that other Hunter and the Smoker alone. He had even deliberately stopped me from trying to harm them. But he hadn't even batted an eye at seeing the other three Hunters destroyed. There was something different about that Hunter and Smoker, then. Something only he could sense. Or maybe…did he know them somehow? Before the infection had hit? Had he perhaps recognized their…smell? Voice?

Was that it? Was that the realization I felt I had been missing all along?

The thought was disturbing. Less the fact that he could sense something like that from blocks away and more the fact that I was beginning to strongly suspect the worse—that there really was something going on here that I didn't know, that had taken me a week to figure out. I twisted slightly in my cocoon of fading warmth, my mind bursting with new theories and thoughts that tired me out as quickly as anything else could. Maybe…it wasn't exactly implausible. It was a pretty small world, after all, despite how insignificant I currently felt in his empty city, and it would make sense about why he hadn't done anything about them following us. Perhaps he was scared to face them, worried that further confronting former friends in their Infected state would send him off the deep end once again, even though I had been sure he was over that by now…

I berated myself for a brief moment at not having taken a closer look at the Infecteds' faces, but even if I had, their state of filth and mutation would most likely have made it impossible for me to match them with any of the pictures Terrence had shown me, even though I had committed so many to memory. Regardless, I felt certain that if Terrence did know that Hunter and Smoker, if that were the reason for all of this, they would have been in the pictures somewhere, tucked away in those physical manifestations of his memories.

I wished so badly that Terrence could talk to confirm what I was thinking. To just flat out _tell_ me so I wouldn't have to keep guessing anymore. But then, if he could talk, he would have told me ages ago what was going on. He would have been able to explain a week ago why he had done what he had done when he had done it, why this whole issue with being followed was happening to us now.

Wouldn't he?

But then, if they were friends, why did he seem so nervous? So worried? It occurred to me that the reason he had woken up in such a fit from his nap earlier that day was because I hadn't been in his range of sight when he had woken. Had he been worried they had gotten to me while his guard was down? Maybe in that case they weren't friends. Or maybe…

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I sighed, grinding my back teeth in frustration. Whatever. It didn't matter. Whether friends or enemies or something completely different, I prayed to whatever god there was, whatever god could possibly let something like this happen, that my feeble plan, filled with holes as it was, would somehow work out.

There would be no way of knowing until morning, though.

Wearily, I glanced down at my watch, lighting up the glow-in-the-dark face to read the time. It was still a long way to dawn.

I settled against the wall, staring blearily into a void, trying to force my mind to shut up and let be the flurry of thoughts and scenarios my troubled had unearthed. Funny, though, that I would think about god now of all times. It was probably because we were in a church. I couldn't say I had been in many churches like this. My family had never really been very religious. That wasn't to say we were bad people. We just…didn't have much of a religious basing.

Not that it really mattered right now. Even if I did have some established belief in god, what good would it do me now? There was no god in a dead city. No god left in a broken world.

This depressing thought effectively quashed all the other frantic nonsense running through me. It was strangely a relief. It seemed that at last, maybe, I would be able to get to sleep now. The time would certainly go faster. I settled my back against the wall, huddling down and waiting to see how tired I was. As soon as I started nodding off, I would return back to my place at Terrence's side. It was certainly warmer, there.

It wasn't long, though, before I was jarred out of my partial meditation by a strangled, feeble whimpering coming from where I had left Terrence.

Immediately, I sat up, all weariness forgotten as I listened through the darkness. My heart throbbed in my chest. What…?

"Terrence?" I whispered harshly into the stillness.

There was another whimper. Then a soft, pathetic whine accompanied by the frantic rustling of cloth.

I lunged to my feet, feeling around the floor for my katana and the flashlight and flicking it on while in the same moment rushing to his side, ready for trouble, expecting something to be hurting him, something to have snuck in through some unnoticed back way or past me up the stairs in the darkness after somehow miraculously breaking in with no noise.

But within two and a half steps, I realized that we were still alone in the church loft. I stopped mid step, the weight of the katana familiar in my hand, my light shinning on Terrence's twitching form amidst the sleeping bags and pillows. Alone. He whimpered again, turning about, an arm weakly grabbing at his side where I had been earlier. His eyes were still closed.

A nightmare?

I tossed the katana down and returned to where I had been sleeping before, gently reaching out and taking one of his hands in mine. His fingers hesitated for only a moment before squeezing mine painfully tight. He stilled almost immediately after, and the soft whimpering died from his throat.

I stared at him for a long time after that, uncertain what to think, what to feel, and it was the numb coldness piercing my skin like stabbing needles that eventually brought me back. I was freezing now without that thick sleeping bag to shield me. I could feel a cough tickling the back of my throat, and I decided it was time to try to get back to sleep. With my free hand, I flicked off the flashlight and reached about and pulled the sleeping bags up around me, nestling back into his warmth, ready and silently begging for sleep.

It never came.

Morning came as a gray dawn, peering through the meager cracks in the boarded window. By the looks of it, the cloud cover had stuck around, which explained why it wasn't as cold as it usually was. Still freezing, but not to the point where I was sure one minute more in it would give me hypothermia. Terrence woke shortly after the sun rose in a recognizably more rested and agreeable mood, and I tried my best to look as if I had gotten a full night's sleep as well. However, it didn't help much that I felt high strung. Nervous. Strained. Terrence noticed. I saw him glancing at me worriedly as I rushed us through breakfast and through packing up, but I ignored him for the most part, merely giving him a bland, half-hearted smile when he at last got fed up with my avoiding his gaze and came over to poke me in the shoulder.

"I'm fine. I just…I want to get going," I explained when the expression on his face told me that once again he didn't believe me. "We're really close. We might even make it to Little Beverly sometime today if we get going."

I forced myself to maintain his gaze as he scrutinized my expression, as if trying to catch me in a lie. But it wasn't necessarily a lie. Just…not the entire truth.

I was very interested to get going, but it wasn't entirely due to the reason I had told him.

After ensuring we had everything with us, we started down the stairs and removed all the barriers within our way, and all the while I felt as if I was on the verge of jumping off a cliff, that thrill of expectancy.

_Calm down. I'm just getting my hopes up,_ I cautioned myself logically. _There were too many variables with that plan. It would be a miracle if…_

As we exited out the back door on our way out to find the world gray but gratefully still unblemished by snow or other signs of a storm, I braced myself and immediately searched the ground for the bowl I had left on the pavement the night before, feeling my heart twist expectantly, my stomach clench in foreboding. My breath caught, drawing in the stale, new-clothing smell from the scarf around my lower face. I stopped mid step, stilling myself in order to look more closely, just to be sure, knowing that Terrence was looking around in interest as well, but no matter how many times I looked, no matter where I looked, the result was still the same, and I felt a savage sense of triumph that roared through me, burning my blood and my mind.

The bowl-and the drugged food within it-was gone.

* * *

**Author's Babble:** I apologize to all the people whose reviews I didn't respond to last run. I was getting to them, but I have such a slow internet that it became more and more daunting and so never got done. I'm sorry! I am terrible.

Anyway, the last poll question ended up having a wide variety of answers that were all fairly interesting. I'll have to see that I draw up over break—it's been such a long time since I've drawn anything, and now I have a few ideas. Also, for anyone who missed it, I posted a very sketchy early version of Terrence and Eden in my DeviantArt's scrap gallery. I wasn't going to say anything until I finished coloring it, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon. Anyway. Poll question!

_What's your favorite Infected and Survivor from the games and why?_ Also, feel free to include yours favorite survivor quote. I do love them, and I usually never get to hear what the survivors are saying—my gaming friends are yelling too loud. Usually at John when he lights one of us on fire. Never fails.


	21. Confront

**Chapter Twenty**

Confront

"It's gone," I said blankly. Then the realization crashed into my brain and I whirled around, grinning lopsidedly at Terrence. "It's gone!"

He looked at me in confusion and bemusement, knowing what I was talking about but uncertain as to why it would garner such a reaction.

I turned away from him, my eyes skimming the silent houses and parking lot around us. It was quiet out and about. Silent. Still. Made even more so by the clouds that continued to hang overhead, muffling the world. No sign of anything. Or anyone. Even though I didn't really think I would see anything, I still felt a small twinge of disappointment.

_Calm down,_ I told myself, taking a deep breath. _Chill out. I'm jumping ahead of myself here._

Right, calm. Of course. I took another deep breath, shifting my weight on my feet. There was no reason to be jumping to conclusions right away. So the food and the bowl and the drugs within it were gone. Big deal. Something else could have taken it during the night, or the intended "benefactors" could have taken it and realized that it was drugged and not eaten it. In that case, maybe all I'd done was pissed them off.

But even if that was what had happened, at least I had done _something_, which was a hell of a lot more encouraging the whole lot of nothing that had been going on the past week.

Although the big question was, if my big idea _had_ worked…what was I supposed to do about it now? Sure, I'd had ideas of what to do when—if—I reached this point, but now that it had finally come, I wasn't too sure where to begin.

I felt a poke in my back and I glanced over my shoulder to see Terrence looking down at me questioningly, unhappy that he was being ignored and left out. I gave him a small half smile, and then looked around the area one last time before turning my complete attention to him.

"You can sense where that Smoker and Hunter are, right?"

The confusion on his face deepened, tinged balefully with a slight sense of fear and the overwhelming anxiety he had sported non-stop for the past week. I forged ahead regardless. If my plan had worked, then that anxiety would go away, or at least whittle down to a manageable amount.

"Where are they right now?"

He stared at me, unmoving, bewildered. I frowned impatiently.

"Come on, Terrence, where are they?"

He blinked. Then slowly he took a hesitant step back, his eyes unwillingly flickering around, his nose twitching in a very animal-like way as he smelled the cold air, his head turned first one way and then the other. After only a few moments of this, he looked back at me warily and jerked his head towards the houses in the north.

"They're in a house?"

Slowly, he nodded, the confusion and wariness in his gaze increasing with every moment.

"Which one? That one with the car in the driveway?" I said, pointing to the mentioned house with my free hand. The other hand was gripping my katana tightly. He shook his head slowly, as if wondering if it was a good idea to tell me exactly where our hunters were, and I pointed to the next one. "The one on the corner? The blue one? No? How about the one with the tree in the front yard?"

He hesitated, his eyes searching my face, set with determination and a wild sense of resolve. He nodded.

I hitched up my backpack and immediately started towards it.

With a strangled cry, he lunged out and grabbed my shoulder, whirling me around to face him and nearly sending me flying onto the pavement. When I managed to regain my balance and look up at him in frustration and confusion, I met his gaze twisted in disbelief and anger and fear staring back at me, searching my eyes, looking for the reason for my apparent recklessness.

I blinked, then offered an apologetic, guilty smile. "Right. Sorry. I guess I got carried away." I hesitated. But I had to tell him what I had done eventually, and it may as well be now. "You know that food I set out last night? Well I…okay, so when we went to that pharmacy yesterday, and I went into the backroom…I got some pills. Some sleeping pills. Sedatives. And that food last night…"

I stopped, struggling with my words with growing frustration. Why was explaining this so difficult? Then I remembered that I hadn't had any sleep that night and left it at that.

I didn't need to keep going, though. Terrence thought about it for only a moment. And then, as comprehension gradually dawned, he looked horrified. He let go of me and stepped back, looking at me as if he hadn't ever seen me properly before.

His response surprised me. Maybe even hurt a little. But then, I hadn't really explained myself very well.

"Look, I'm pretty sure there weren't enough pills in there to hurt them or anything," I said hastily. "I don't even know if they ate it. It's gone, though, so maybe. That's why I want to go check. And either way, we need to go face them eventually. I'm surprised we haven't done so already, actually. I mean, they've been following us for a _week_. I…I had to do something. And this…it just…" I took a deep breath. "Why, Terrence? Why are they following us? Why are we letting them follow us? Why haven't we done _anything_? Why…why did you even help them in the first place all those days ago? Why? What's going on?"

He simply stared at me, the horror in his face fading only slightly into shame and exhaustion. I could tell that he didn't want to answer, whether because he knew it would take up too much energy and thought, or because he just didn't want me to know the truth. He glanced at the house where he had indicated our hunters were, and then he glanced in the direction that we had been heading ever since leaving his apartment, the direction of Little Beverly.

"We're not moving on until we've figured this out," I told him firmly. I swallowed as he turned his gaze back to me. I took a tentative step forward, tempted to reach out and touch him but unable to do so under his disbelieving, wary gaze. "Do you know them? Before the Infection, I mean. Is…is that why you went to help them? But then…why are you so…scared…to face them now?"

He stared at me. I was getting really tired of that reaction from him. Sure, I knew he couldn't talk, but he could at least shake his head or make a sound or try to do sign language or _something_. I stared back at him, waiting for some attempt at a response. But when none came, my frustration and impatience with his inability to speak got the better of me, and I scowled as I shifted the weight of my backpack and whirled around to start off towards the house once again with or without his understanding or acceptance.

And again, I felt the vice-like grip reach out and stop me. I tried to shrug it off, but his fingers were powerful, his claws digging into my coat. I was forced to turn and look at him again.

"Okay, give me one good reason why I shouldn't go over there," I snapped angrily, batting at his hand in an attempt to dislodge it. It was like trying to move a steel tube stuck in the wall. In other words, his grip only tightened. I resisted a wince, glaring at him coldly, my lip curling in a snarl when he didn't respond. Just stared. "Let go of me, Terrence."

I felt his grip convulsively loosen just a fraction immediately, but then, as if realizing his mistake, he tightened his fingers all the more, shaking his head and pulling me in the direction of Little Beverly. So much smaller and weaker, I tried my best to stand my ground, but I was forced to relent a step or two. I felt the anger pounding in my ears, burning my already dry throat, and in desperation, I twisted in an attempt to get free, eventually lashing out with a sharp, furious swing driven by my lack of sleep directly into his side.

I knew it hadn't hurt him, not physically, but it did make him stop and let go of me immediately, taking a step back and looking at me in surprise and hurt. Immediately, I felt guilty. Embarrassed. But still oh so very angry. I had reached my breaking point with this situation, and Terrence's continual insistence with pretending nothing was wrong and simply moving on gave me the push I needed to find the energy to not let the subject drop, no matter how exhausted I was from the night of no sleep.

"I told you to let go! I'm not going anywhere with you until I figure out what's going on. And I swear to you that I'll kick your ass if you pick me up and try to carry me again," I added warningly, dancing away a few steps as he made towards me, his arms outstretched and his expression exasperated. He stopped instantly at my words, though, looking awkward at how I had read his intentions so quickly. "We are going to that house. Right now. And you are _going_ to help me put an end to this, and you are _not_ going to back out, do you understand?"

He stared, giving me his best pathetic, hopeless look.

"_Do you understand_?"

His arms dropped to his side and he looked down at the ground. He nodded.

Without another word, trying hard to suppress the nagging feeling of uncomfortable shame with the more burning feeling of determination, I whirled around and stalked off in the direction of the house with the small, bare tree sitting out in the overgrown front yard. I was done with this crap. This problem was getting solved, and if I had to hurt Terrence to get it done…well…

Maybe I needed more sleep.

I would make it up to him later, I resolved to myself as we crossed the dead street. On habit, I looked both ways as I stepped out into the blacktop, even though the likelihood of a car passing by was practically zero. As for other Infected, we hadn't seen any yet besides the ones that followed us, and heaven help any that got in my way today. My pace slowed as we neared the front of the house, my ears and eyes straining for any sign of life or movement. I felt Terrence tense up behind me, drawing close to my side with every step closer to the silent house.

Suddenly, I wasn't too sure of myself. I was…scared. But it was too late to back down now.

Crossing the lawn felt like crossing the city. Each step was a week. Somehow though, eventually, we made it to the front door, shut tight against the outside. I glanced over at Terrence, who had come to a stop next to me, eyeing the door as if at any moment it would come alive and attack us. I looked forward. Stretched out my hand. Gave the doorknob a turn.

It was locked.

I glanced at Terrence again as he looked down at me, his eyes wide and his mouth set into a firm line.

I started around the side of the house to the back, pushing quietly through the partially opened gate in the fence that stretched between the outer wall of the house and the wall of the garage to the house next to it. The backyard was as overgrown as the front and sported a small waterfall that no longer worked and a patio with a barbeque grill and a table with chairs gathered around a set of sliding glass doors that sat partially open. Almost waiting. Beckoning.

My throat went dry, my legs went stiff. It felt for all the world like I was about to walk into a cave that I knew for a fact contained a bear. A large, hungry bear just barley awoken from a long winter's sleep, never mind the fact that technically it was still the beginning of winter.

Poor metaphors aside, it was a feeling that made my pace slow slightly as I determinedly approached that back door. Despite all my talk and my pent up frustration, I suddenly didn't want to go in there. It was an irritating feeling, the same sort of irritation I had felt when the Infected had come calling in the middle of the night several days ago, when I had curled up in Terrence's sleeping arms and shuddered and felt terrified and helpless and alone.

Helpless. I wasn't helpless.

My grip on my katana tightened as I pulled the blade from its protective sheath. I had cleaned it carefully after every use, and it gleamed now in the frigid air even without the aid of the sun as I held it out in front of me. Terrence made a small, feeble sound in his throat at the sight of it, but I ignored him, taking a deep breath as I moved purposely forward towards the door, picking up my pace in an effort to not think too hard about what I was about to do.

Terrence picked up his pace as well, practically jumping ahead of me to get to the door first, blocking my way. I slowed to a stop behind him, scowling bitterly and utterly ready to rip him one for stopping me as he looked at me and attempted a smile that came out more like a grimace. He pointed to himself and then to the door and my anger with him faded as I nodded my silent understanding, wary of making any sound in case, as was most likely the case, the Hunter and the Smoker had not taken the bait as effectively as I had planned.

He gave me one last look, eyeing me carefully, before he turned and slowly, quietly pushed the sliding screen open enough to permit us. He poked his head in cautiously and I heard him sniffing the air, his head turning back and forth as he surveyed the silent, dark room beyond. My grip on my katana tightened as he took a wary step inside, shifting the gun and backpack slung over his shoulder in nervousness.

I followed in after him as he crept in through what looked like the living room of the house. It was a large living room, immaculately organized and eerily left in an undisturbed state. Terrence led me to the other side of it to a set of stairs, and slowly we climbed up, up to the second floor. Up closer to where possible trouble awaited us, hopefully asleep, but most likely very much awake and pissed off.

However, as we rounded the top few steps and stepped silently onto the carpeted hallway of the second floor, my ears picked up a series of frantic, clumsy barks and whines emitting from what seemed like a room at the every end of the hallway. I instinctively reached out and grabbed Terrence's shoulder, in easy reach now as he had gradually resorted back down to his former typical crouching stalk. He started at the touch, his head whipping around to look at me with a look of shock and fear on his face. When he realized it was just me, he relaxed and the expression faded. A little. Very little. I smiled encouragingly, the muscles working and straining with the out of place gesture, and he slowly turned forward.

We crept down the hall, our footsteps muffled by the carpet. With every step, Terrence's paced seem to slow, and it was only when I attempted to get ahead of him in frustration that he picked up his steps and scurried forward. We neared the last door on the right where the sounds were apparently coming from. It was shut tight, not permitting us a view of what lay beyond inside. We stood in front of it, side by side, and with a glance at me, Terrence slowly straightened himself, his hands running nervously up and down the strap of the rifle he carried. In the dim light coming from a window at the very end of the hall, I could see he was trembling slightly, his eyes wide, his back teeth grinding in a fear I did not understand. I wanted to reach out and hug him, touch him, reassure him against whatever horror he expected to face, whatever memory or thought was plaguing his mind. But I didn't. Instead, I took a deep breath, my sweaty palm feeling every dent of texture in the hilt of my katana, and I reached out and knocked on the closed bedroom door.

The sounds coming from within ceased immediately. My breath bated, my chest constricted, I grabbed the doorknob and attempted to twist it open, onto to find that like the front door, it was locked. I turned to Terrence immediately.

"Kick it in," I ordered him, my voice hoarse.

He looked at me for only a fleeting moment before stepping back, pulling up his leg, and driving in a kick so inhumanely powerful that the door splintered where the lock had been as it was forced open.

A strangled shriek sounded from the other side as Terrence's momentum carried him forward a few steps into the doorway. He reached out and grabbed both sides of the frame to steady himself. I stepped after him, my katana gripped in both hands as I held it up and held it steady, determined and ready to face whatever was waiting for us. But he had frozen. He was staring into the room, his breathing shallow and labored. His large body filled the doorway, blocking my entrance in, and I was forced to push him aside slightly so I could duck under his arm and see what the room had in store.

It was dark inside as the curtains over the windows had been drawn, but with enough blinking, I was able to see that it was a plain bedroom. Probably a guest room. Whether it had been as untouched as the rest of the house we had passed through or not, I would never know, as the bed had been completely disassembled, the mattress stuffed into the closet and the blankets and pillows piled onto it. In the shadows of it, I saw a pair of eyes glinting within a hood from where the Hunter crouched, watching us. I couldn't be sure of what was the Smoker—everything else was too deep in shadow to tell.

I felt Terrence's breath catch next to me. He took a wary, frightened half step back, almost stepping on my feet. He looked about on the verge to run, and I relinquished my steady hold on my katana enough to reach up and rest my hand on his shoulder. With a jump, his eyes flashed down to look at me in wild fear, even as the Hunter within the room began to growl.

Instinctively, I brought up my katana to bear with one hand, my mouth twisted in a sneer.

"Don't you even dare."

It wasn't until the words were out of my mouth that I realized I was talking to an Infected. Then I reminded myself that Terrence was an Infected, too. The thought made me falter. I had almost completely forgotten that fact.

The growling faded slightly, only to be replaced by a low, mournful whine, the eyes turning down so the light was no longer visible reflected off of them. Out of the corner of my eye as I glared in the direction of the Hunter, I saw Terrence turn away from me, directing his vision to the same target as mine. He whimpered tentatively, only to cut the sound short almost as soon as he made it.

Within the bedroom, I saw the Hunter's head snap up to look at us. Terrence took a step back, and I had enough mind to hurriedly move out of the way to avoid being stepped on. I braced myself, ready. Waiting.

But nothing happened. Nothing at all.

A standoff.

Frustrated, my mind racing, I let go of Terrence and shrugged of my backpack enough to get access to the flashlight stuffed at the top of the front pocket. A small part of my mind wondering what the hell I was doing, I flicked it on and shone it into the bedroom, focusing almost directly on the Infected in the closet.

The reaction was immediate. The already crouching Hunter dropped into an offensive stance, bloodied, cracked mouth open in a hissing snarl, eyes wide and expression wild. It wasn't at all like I remembered it from the fight all those times ago. The sight froze my heart. It was like looking at a nightmare, a suppressed memory from the past—it had been days, after all, since I had last scene a feral Infected. Months since I had first encountered Terrence in all his bloody, beaten up, animalistic horror. This Hunter was about in the same state. Even worse. His clothes were nothing but filthy, blood rags. His face and visible skin was covered in festering scratches and wounds and caked blood and dirt. Despite the fact that this Hunter was much smaller and less powerful built than my Hunter, I felt like I was facing Terrence all over again, the Terrence I had first met. The Hunter. The Infected.

The monster.

It. He.

A part of me wanted to blubber and scream, but thankfully, it was my cold sense of indifference that had control. It was the harshness of my own sense of survival that realized that the Hunter was crouching protectively over the still form of the Smoker from before where it lay on the mattress, either dead or asleep, I couldn't tell until a ragged cough escaped its lips and its head turned feebly to the side. The Hunter's eyes glanced down at its companion for just a fleeting moment before snapping up to look at us again, and I realized that it was afraid. Like an animal trapped and cornered by a hunter.

All that meant was that it was all the more dangerous. All the more desperate.

My eyes flickered around the bedroom, content that for a fleeting moment, the Hunter would not attack. I focused immediately on a familiar bowl lying on the floor not too far away from the mattress. It was empty. The food within it was gone. I returned my gaze up to the crouching Hunter and the Smoker, apparently fast asleep, and the longer we waited, the more the seconds ticked by, I realized that yes, my plan had worked after all.

But that still didn't answer the question of what to do now. Facing our hunters, mere feet away from ending our problem for good, and I had no idea what to do. Was I supposed to kill them? A helpless, sleeping Smoker being defended by a desperate Hunter outnumbered by another Hunter twice his size and a girl with a sword? It didn't feel…it didn't feel right. Humane.

_They're just Infected_, I thought bitterly, my grip on my katana twitching. They're just…just…

Just like Terrence.

I gritted my teeth, holding back a shout. No! No, they were _not_ like Terrence. They were…were…

Terrence whimpered again, drawing his hands away from the doorframe and shuffling back a few feet, one hand moving to grip his right forearm. I stood at attention immediately. I had to do something. _Something_. I had to end this. Somehow, something had to be done. I just…

Then to my great surprise, the Hunter's snarling lips slowly fell back into place. Its nose twitched in the air in our direction, sniffing, smelling, one ear cocked towards us. Its eyes widened even further as it looked in our direction, but then I realized that it wasn't looking at me. It was looking at Terrence. And Terrence was staring right back, apparently too afraid, too stunned to look away, even though it seemed he very much wanted to. I was now closer to the Infected than he was, even if just a little bit, and it wasn't until the Hunter within the bedroom slowly, hesitantly began to stand that Terrence realized it.

Lunging forward, he grabbed me by the shoulders and flung me behind him against the wall, standing in front of me as I tried to recover from being so roughly handled and tried to determine whether I should feel indignant or hurt or scared or all of the above. I vaguely heard the short bark coming from within the bedroom, met by a feeble, gradually strengthening growl from Terrence. I managed to regain myself in time to peer around Terrence, to watch as the other Hunter awkwardly, slowly stepped towards us, its lower half the only thing illuminated from the flashlight that had fallen from my grip and had now rolled to a stop on the floor in front of Terrence, its beam shining into the darkened bedroom. My now free hand joined the other on the hilt of my katana as I struggled off my butt to a one-knee crouch behind Terrence's legs. My entire, exhausted body was tensed. Energized. Adrenaline pumping through my system, driven by the frantic, terrified beat of my heart, the only physical betrayal of the fear that was rapidly replacing the cold emotionless I had once lived for. My mind was racing, thinking, plotting, but no thought came to drive my actions, no spark of brilliance flickered to my aid. I had absolutely no idea what to do, what was even going on. This was no longer my fight. I suddenly realized in that moment of tenseness and ironic clarity, that our hunters hadn't been following us because of me.

They were following because of Terrence.

Terrence's growl turned to a warning hiss as the other Hunter drew closer. Its steps faltered to a stop. It looked almost afraid. Uncertain. And then, to my eternal surprise and complete, utter confusion, it slowly fell back into a crouch, back into the light of the flashlight, and I thought I saw the glint of a tear cutting through the grime of its damaged face.

The sight drove my breathing into a frenzy as I drew away, a feeling of horror and complete chaos sweeping through my brain.

But I didn't have any time to process what I was seeing, to even begin doubting it, before the Hunter bowed its head and sounded a plaintive, mournful whine. Terrence's hissing and growling faded away, and for a moment he seemed confused. Or maybe the amount and type of emotions he was feeling allowed for no other expression. Encouraged by the lack of offensive show, the other Hunter shuffled forward in its crouch, almost to the doorframe, mere feet away from where Terrence stood over me protectively, watching. It came close enough that I could smell it, the blood and the filth and the scent of death and excrement, close enough that it almost distracted me from what I was watching, almost gave me something else to think about. But regardless, my attention was held as the Hunter slowly stood once again, reverting to the hunched over form that I recognized from when Terrence had first started standing, had first started walking like the human he was. Slowly, as if expecting backlash, it hesitantly raised a shaking, filthy, clawed and inhuman hand to point towards Terrence. Towards his arm. His right forearm.

Terrence went stiff. I heard his breath catch in his throat. With the other hand, the Hunter in front of us reached up and clumsily grabbed the edge of the hood hiding his face. He pulled it back, shaking his head awkwardly, dislodging the clumps of what looked like blonde hair, revealing more clearly his pair of blackened, red rimmed eyes, so different from Terrence's, more animalistic. But the sorrow and regret etched into the filthy features, the streaks of rapidly forming and falling tears building in his eyes and pouring down his face, was unmistakenably human.

Human and…familiar. Somehow…familiar.

The Hunter opened his mouth, his cracked, ripped lips forming silent words as he searched Terrence's frozen features. And then his eyes welled up in tears and he collapsed to his knees, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed and screamed.

Shocked, I looked up at Terrence to find my companion's face distorted with pain. Sorrow.

But the anxiety, the fear, was gone.

He stepped forward, falling heavily to his own knees as he threw his arms around the other Hunter.

I stared at them, hardly noticing that my body was apparently standing on its own. I no longer felt any fear. All I felt now was a very deep, understandable sense of confusion. Despite all the blood and wounds caked upon it, the Hunter's face had flared up a memory in my mind. A picture. An image…something. I struggled to grasp it, to catch the fleeting memory with firm hands, to push past my exhaustion and utter disbelief and bewilderment in order to see the clear picture.

It was obvious now that Terrence knew these Infected, or at least this Hunter. He knew him from somewhere, apparently very well. It was difficult to tell, but I was certain the Hunter couldn't have been any older than Terrence was. Most likely, he had been in one of the pictures Terrence had shown me all those weeks ago as I had struggled to recover from the illness that plagued me even now. Well, all right then. That was where I needed to start. This Hunter had blonde hair. He was shorter than Terrence by about a head. Blonde…

Blonde.

My breath caught and I took a frantic, horrified step back that collided me against the wall. But I hardly noticed. My mind was distant from my body, separate. The swirling chaos within it had halted to a stop, focusing upon the pictures from Terrence's apartment that I had filed away in my brain for safekeeping. And there it was. The answer. Filling completely the inner screen of my thoughts, so thorough and detailed it may as well have been the actual thing held in my hands, miraculously, somehow pulled out of my exhausted mind. Oh my god.

Oh my god.

It didn't matter that the strange Hunter before me was beaten and filthy and destroyed to the point of being unrecognizable. I was able to recognize him anyway. He was the man who had shared the up scale apartment that Terrence and I had lived in for so many weeks in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. His pictures had been everywhere there, just as Terrence's had been. His face had been branded into my mind from the sheer hours of boredom, from the inability to do nothing else but look at two-dimensional representations of the people that no longer existed as they once were, never once expecting, dreaming, thinking that I would meet any of them.

Yet here one of them was. Terrence's roommate. Terrence's _roommate_. And he was a Hunter, too.

* * *

**Author's Babble:** Oh, snap.

So! Here we go, (partial) revelation and all, so now all of you who guessed correctly can do a little dance of victory.

Welcome to all you new readers! We picked up quite a few more than usual the last round for some reason. And thank you everyone for reading, whether you've been with us since chapter one or are just joining in! Your support is just so overwhelming and awesome, you guys have seriously no idea. Just a quick recap so you all know where we are with this story: this chapter marks a little more than halfway through the currently scripted second arc. Hopefully, we'll be able to start into the third arc before the end of the year. After that, there will be a fairly short fourth arc to wrap everything up. I'm very excited!

Poll question!

_What the hell is going on here? _Thoughts? Theories? Questions that I may or may not be able to answer? If you can't think of any, then here's a simpler question: _If you lived in the L4D universe, would you be a Survivor, Infected, or dead?__  
_


	22. Speak

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Speak

My mind was racing a million miles per hour, around and around and around in an endless stream of bursting new theories and memories and thoughts. It was overwhelming, painful beyond imagining, worse than ever before. The floor I was standing on seemed to be heaving. My head was throbbing all over. The air was pulsing. Living. Breathing. All bearing down on me, threatening to swallow me up whole.

I wanted to scream. Cry. Something. Anything.

Another realization bubbled through the chaos, another spark of brilliant, terrible thought forcing its way through to clarity.

Both of these men, these Infected, shared the same devastating strain of infection. They had both somehow retained their sanities after the infection had hit, possibly because of that same, unusual strain. And they had lived in the same apartment before the infection. I remembered the cough syrup and cold medicine scattered about the apartment upon our first arriving there. More than was needed by one person alone.

Illnesses tended to spread quickly through households due to the close proximity. I knew that. Those were facts, presented clearly before my unwilling gaze.

So the question, the final mystery was…who had infected who? In my mind, there was no doubt that one had infected the other. It made so many things make sense. Yet I didn't want to think it was Terrence. I couldn't.

But then, was that why he was so scared to face his friend?

"Terrence?"

I hadn't realized I had spoken until the word was out in the air, until it had reached my ears and registered in my brain. The sound of my own voice, tremulous and weary and small, froze the hurricane in my brain, and the world around me shuddered to a complete stop, leaving me feeling winded and confused.

Terrence twisted around enough to look over his shoulder at me, still clutching the sobbing Hunter. I stared at him, searching for unspoken words in his pale gaze, uncertain what I was feeling. I opened my mouth to say something that my brain had yet to register, and then the exhaustion hit me. It was a type of exhaustion that was both mental and physical, and it hit me like a Tank. The lack of sleep that night, this unexpected and horrifying conclusion to all the stress and anxiety that had haunted my every living moment the past week, and all of my weakness and the cold was just too much. The dim area around me gave one final, tremendous shake before fading into darkness, and I didn't even realize that I was falling. I didn't even realize I had collapsed into unconsciousness.

Until I woke up.

Darkness. Warmth. I registered immediately that I was lying down flat on my back, encased in heavy warmth that smelled of dust and wood and people long since gone. I blinked several times in bewilderment, unable to comprehend quite yet what had happened until slowly, purposefully my senses and thoughts returned to me and I found myself completely alert and awake, refreshed from the forced system reboot. And then it was as if no time had passed, as if a part of my life had utterly dropped from the face of the earth or I had somehow teleported forward into the near future. One moment I had been on the floor of an abandoned house, watching the reunion of two broken, devastated friends, and the next…I was here.

But where was here?

Cursing bitterly under my breath, I struggled out from under the many layers covering me, poking my head into the frigid cold and dim light that the blankets and sleeping bags had kept concealed. I blinked a few times more, my eyes blearily taking in the small attic room, so familiar from the night before, and the camping lantern set on dim in the middle of the floor, casting shadows around the darkened room. The boarded up windows showed nothing but darkness through their shadowed cracks. Night? Already? But it had barely been morning. Then again, I had just gone almost twenty-four hours without sleep before now. Perhaps I had slept the entire day away.

I twisted, looking around anxiously, only to start when I realized that Terrence was sitting right next to me, his back up against the wall and his legs underneath the same mountain of blankets piled on me, his face so heavily shadowed that I didn't realize he was awake until he tilted his head to the side and softly whimpered in a questioning, curious tone.

"I'm fine," I said automatically, and the words started up a coughing fit triggered by the dry, hoarseness of a voice in sickness and disuse. Terrence slid up out of the makeshift bed and retrieved one of the bottled waters from our backpacks for me, and in a few moments, I had the coughing under control.

"Terrence?" I asked, confused, wiping my lips of any stray dribbles as my friend returned to his place next to me, bundling up under the covers. "What…"

I was going to ask what had happened, what was going on now. I remembered very clearly what had happened last I had been awake, but even in its clarity, a part of me still doubted its occurrence, still registered it as being possibly nothing more but a dream. And then there was the question of what had happened while I had been so blissfully, ignorantly sleeping. But my eyes flickered to Terrence's other side where there were more blankets and sleeping bags. More than enough for two more people besides him and me. And if I looked closely, if I focused on the shadows, I could just make out what I thought was a head, a face, maybe two, side-by-side, poking out from underneath two human-sized mounds beneath it all.

I sat up very quickly, backed up against the wall at Terrence's side. My heart was thrumming steadily in my chest, and I was aware of it in my ears and the tips of my fingers. I felt my friend's eyes studying me, realizing that I had seen, that I knew. Waiting for a reaction to the fact that we were sharing shelter with the creatures we had been running from.

But what reaction had I left to give?

It was a few moments before I was able to bring myself to look at him, and as I did, it struck me at how heavily lined and shadowed his face really was in that dim light. He was facing away from the light source, towards me, and his features were obscured and darkened, like a statue, like a shadow. But even still, I could see him. I could see his face. His wonderful, beaten, but still entirely whole human face. I could see the pale orbs that were his eyes, watching me. I leaned closer to him, reaching out a trembling hand to touch the side of his face, to slide around to the back of his head and bring his face closer, almost close enough to touch foreheads. And I looked at him. Eye to eye. I looked into the eyes that had turned so pale from the Infection that had ravaged his body and mind.

The Infection. The Infection had claimed the two who slept on the other side of my friend. But apparently…apparently, it hadn't claimed everything.

"Terrence," I breathed quietly, and my breath came out in barely visible wisps of white. "Why did this happen? Why has the world gone to hell…and left us like this? You and me…and them…and everyone…why?"

He blinked, his eyes moving back and forth as they searched my gaze. Then his stare dropped and he let out the smallest sigh, but in it I heard his defeat, his weariness, his uncertainty and his doubt and his anguished lack of answer to such a question with such simple words but too complex an solution for any of us left in this city, this world, to truly understand.

Movement stirred behind him and we broke off almost simultaneously, resting back heavily against the wall and the pillows we had scavenged. I was wide-awake, but never had I felt so tired, so worn down. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, and when I opened my eyes several moments later and looked to Terrence's other side, I saw one of the other creatures in the room stir from sleep, raising up slowly, almost painfully from the laying down position, one hand tenderly touching its blistered, bulging face as the other pushed it up, steadied. Then slowly, confusedly, it looked towards us.

For a moment, Terrence and I stared at it as it stared back at us. In the darkness, it was nearly impossible at this distance to decipher exact facial features, but my memory supplied a distorted but decent enough image. I saw the Smoker's face, half covered with tumor-like things made of unknown matter and covered in so much dirt and blood that the skin color beneath was a mystery. I saw the long, horrifying tongue-like appendage hanging lamely from a forever partially opened mouth. And that was all I had time to see. It…no, he. He stared at us, and I knew there was confusion etched on his devastated features. I knew that he was most likely waking up for the first time since eating the drugged food last night. He didn't know what was going on. He didn't understand. I knew. And I stared as he stared back. Then he seemed to register what he was staring at, and he jumped backward with a strangled wail, almost landing on his companion sleeping curled up beside him.

The other Hunter woke with a start—who wouldn't have—and suddenly the attic was in chaos. Terrence leapt up, arms outstretched, his voice wailing softly, reassuringly. I fell backwards onto my hands, scrambling back a few feet before I even registered that I was running away until I backed up against a chair. And then I just sat there and watched in dazed, panicked confusion as the other Hunter leapt up, looking around wildly for a threat as the Smoker clumsily backed up behind him, clutching at his tattered jeans, his throat working wildly as he spewed forth a torrent of muffled, choking gibberish that told of his fear.

Panicked, confused, possibly on instinct, the other Hunter suddenly shrieked, so high pitched and so loud, amplified as it was in that small-enclosed space, that it was enough for me to instinctively cover my ears and cringe, that it was enough to draw out the vivid memories of a fateful night in an alleyway and a single, wonderful, terrible mistake. I felt fear, then. Fear of the Hunter. Both past and present.

No. No, no. That was the past. The past.

"Stop it!" I cried, the word ripped from my lungs. "_Stop it_!"

The movement around me froze immediately, the brief lapse of chaos ended. I felt three pairs of eyes turn to look at me, to stare. And I opened my eyes to stare back without even realizing that I had closed them in the first place.

It was a strange sight. Like out of some sad, sick nightmare. The other Hunter was crouched over his cringing companion, both breathing heavily in ragged, raspy breaths, children of the apocalypse in every sound and appearance and smell. Terrence crouched in front of them, his arms held out as if to calm a wild creature, his head turned enough so he could keep both them and me in his gaze. And then there was me. The only girl. The only non-Infected in the room. Maybe the whole city.

Maybe the whole world.

I took a shaky breath, slowly lowering my hands from my head to rest upon the ground. "Just…just stop it," I repeated, but my voice this time was of a quieter tone. "Calm down. It's all right. Everything's all right."

Gingerly, I pushed myself up into a crouch, and the Smoker whimpered slightly, clutching the Hunter's jeans tighter. So strange, I thought. So curious.

"My name is…is Eden. And this is Terrence. But…you already knew that. At least, you know, anyway," I said quietly, pointing at the Hunter, and I could see the surprise and wariness on his face, no longer hidden by the shadows of his hood. "You…you're Fisher. James Fisher. But everyone always called you Fisher, didn't they? You were Terrence's roommate, back before this all began. You were an engineering student, starting on your master's degree. Do…do you remember?"

The Hunter began to growl at me, gutturally, like an animal, like Terrence had before I found the human in him. But one warning hiss from Terrence and the growling tapered off. Almost grudgingly.

"We were at your apartment a little while back," I explained quickly, and I eased back onto the improvised bed, close enough to touch Terrence's shoulder. As if following a verbal order, he relaxed back, dropping his arms to his side and settling tiredly into his vacated spot. After a moment, the other Hunter relaxed as well, dropping down to sit. But the Smoker remained on edge, staring at me with one eye wide open, and the other, the one encased by tumors, barely a slit of reflected light. And I kept talking. Talking as if I hadn't had the chance to do so in years. "We…we had to stay there for a little while. I got sick, you see, had to recover…it took a long time, so Terrence told me—well, showed me—all about you. I…I recognized you from the pictures. The videos on Terrence's laptop. I remember your face, although it was a bit difficult. A lot difficult. You've changed. But…but I still see you. I still see James Fisher." Terrence made a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat. I paused, glancing at him to confirm what I had thought. His eyes, wide with surprise, told me all I needed to know. Then I turned my gaze back to the other Hunter, the other Infected, searching the haggard, grimy face, lined now with shock and a dim, vague hint of desperate hope. "Do you remember who you are?"

The Hunter stared at me, his blackened eyes wide and penetrating. I stared back, wondering if he would answer me, the girl he didn't even know, the mysterious, uninfected girl who was willingly traveling with his Infected roommate. And then it was like a part of him collapsed. He sat back heavily and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, his knees drawn up to his chest. I kept my gaze on him, aware that Terrence was glancing at me worriedly, waiting for a signal to do something for some reason. Aware that the Smoker was still cowering at the Hunter's side, looking up at him now with that same worry, that confusion.

I wasn't sure whether to keep talking or to shut up and wait. It seemed like I should wait. I wasn't sure what for. Had I been mistaken? Had I perhaps only seen what I had wanted to see in the scratched and dirty features of this Hunter? Could I have been wrong?

After what seemed like such a long stretch of silence to rival the city's own, the Hunter at last lowered his hands, his gaze staring unfocused at his feet, and he nodded slowly, his chapped lips forming silent words that somehow, someway I was able to understand.

_I remember._

I blinked and withdrew back, my mind suddenly racing, the previous moment, in all its wonder and discovery and unknown, momentarily forgotten.

"You…you can talk?" I spluttered, stunned and terribly, horribly hopeful.

The Hunter looked up at me in surprise, and then I saw his lips form a small, bitter smile as he shook his head and shrugged, pointing half-heartedly to his throat, and my hope faded.

"You can't…put a voice to your words. Like Terrence."

Terrence whined tentatively and my gaze snapped to look at him, to see him staring at me sadly.

"But you…you can mouth words," I said, directing my eyes at the other Hunter once again. He simply stared. I saw Infected eyes stare back at me, and I realized that it didn't bother me as much as he once would have. Not after being with Terrence for so long.

But this gaze…this gaze was different. As dark as Terrence's was light. And still so inhuman. Still so Infected.

I took a deep breath, my hands drawing up to painfully massage my temples as the flurry of ideas and memories from before began to restart in my brain. I really wished right then that there was such a thing as an off switch for it. I wanted to go back to sleep, to fall into such a state that required very little thinking, or at least no thinking that I needed to remember. But I was too awake. Sleep was impossible right then. Which left nothing to it but to keep thinking. "All right. Okay. So…I still have absolutely no idea what's going on, and this is just…I don't even know. I just…I don't even know where to begin. I don't even know what _to_ begin. It's just…I…" I took another deep breath and my hands fell away. I looked around at the others in the room. At the other three. And something clicked. Something small in the grand scheme of things, but tremendously important to me. "It's been months since we last saw anyone besides…besides…monsters. I almost even forgot that there were other people out there. This city…everyone's gone. All gone. And yet there's you. And us. And…we're the last." I barked a small, sardonic laugh. "We're not even that. We're just…"

Terrence poked my leg gently when I fell silent, and I blinked and looked up at him, smiling slightly in embarrassment, the strain of rambling thought dispersing. I sighed and drew my legs up to me, wrapping my arms around them. It was cold. Winter cold. But the cold didn't really register. It seemed far away. Less important than it had been. "I'm sorry. Listen to me, carrying on like I'm crazy."  
He whined comfortingly and I smiled at him again before turning my attention back to the pair in the corner, to the Hunter leaning back against the wall in what seemed like relaxed defeat. He was watching me closely in what seemed to be curiosity, perhaps amused by my lunatic ramblings. I stared at the Smoker who still looked so scared and confused, who remained cowering next to his friend, his gaze still uncomfortably fixed on me. I stared back at him with no other intention but to try to see if I recognized his face, if I could figure out where he was from, who he was, if he was perhaps another friend of Terrence's. It was difficult what with the tumors erupted on one side of his face. Difficult, what with the distraction of the long, dangling tongue-like thing hanging from his mouth. A grotesque offspring of a nightmare gone wrong. I tried to match up his face with a human face I had seen before. But it seemed he misinterpreted my intentions. After only moments of staring at each other, he whimpered and his gaze dropped, turning his face away, his back to me as best he could. He reached up a trembling hand and tried to hide his disfigured face behind the turned up collar of his filthy, tattered jacket, behind the shoulder of his friend.

"No, wait, it's all right," I reassured him, even before my mind realized why I was saying those words. Was he ashamed of how he looked? Ashamed of the fact that an apparently unblemished, unaffected person was looking on him? I realized then that he was the most visibly Infected out of the four of us. I felt a great wave of pity. And of shame. "I wasn't…I was just trying to see if I recognized you." I glanced at Terrence, who looked up in attention from where he sat, patiently waiting and watching in silence. "Do you know him? Is he another of your friends?"

Terrence shook his head, his eyes flickering in the direction of his roommate, Fisher, the other Hunter, who also shook his head. Fisher's blackened eyes looked at me for a fleeting moment, then turned to look at his companion, who had taken to hiding his face in his coat as best he could. The Hunter whined softly, quietly, and continued doing so until his friend consented to lift up his gaze, to watch as the Hunter began gesturing, his lips once again forming voiceless words, this time more exaggerated to perhaps make up for the fact that he could not provide sounds for them.

It was a strange exchange to watch. Surreal, even. These two Infected had adapted their communication abilities to suit their needs. Somehow, without words, without voice, they were able to get their intentions across using whatever they had left.

But it must have been so frustrating. So terrible. To go from having an entire life of words and voice and tone, all those wonderful, glorious forms of communication…to go from all of that to…this. And here I had been silently complaining and fussing over Terrence's inability to speak. We at least had my voice. We still retained that small bridge to humanity between us.

Yet what must my communication with Terrence and his communication with me look to an outsider?

The Hunter seemed to have managed to get his point across. Still hiding his face, the Smoker reached into his jacket pocket and after a moment of rummaging, pulled out a heavily battered wallet, glancing over at me over the brim of his jacket collar as he handed it almost unwillingly to the Hunter, who took it and tossed it over to Terrence. My companion caught it with ease, only to hand it over to me. I glanced at him, then at the other two Infected watching my every move. And I opened it.

There wasn't much left. There were what had once been a few dollar bills left, so waterlogged and dirty brown that it was impossible to tell what they had once been. There was only one credit card. Some business cards. Some bits of paper that may have been receipts. And what looked like a school ID and driver's license tucked right up in the front.

I pulled the last two items out, tilting them towards the light. But they were too dirty to make out much. I plucked up the water bottle I had drunk from earlier and poured enough to wet the coated surface of what I guessed to be the driver's license, wiping it away with a corner of one of the blankets I sat on to see that my guess had been right. There was the small, square picture of a young man, a bored, sarcastic smile on his thin, handsome young face. His hair was styled short and bleached blonde white. His eyes looked as if they had been blue. Not like Terrence's had been. Maybe more green. He couldn't have been more than sixteen in the picture. I rubbed more of the dirt off and read the name Bradley White. The birth date below it gave him an age barely a year younger than I was. Which meant that this year should have been his last year of high school if he had gone to public school. I cleaned off the school ID card as well and confirmed it as belonging to a local public high school not too far away from the university.

He was young. So, so young. Just a kid. A young man with dreams of a future that was so close, just one school year away…

But now it may as well have been a hundred. A thousand.

I looked up at the Hunter and the Smoker across from me. At James Fisher and Bradley White. Human names, human lives…

But for that moment, they were still just Infected to me. Although obviously they were human enough for me to talk and act like they weren't.

I slid the cards back into their place and tossed the wallet back to the Hunter, who caught it easily and handed it off to the Smoker, who snatched it and stuffed it back into his pocket without a glance at me.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out suddenly. The words hung emptily in the air, and I swallowed and continued. "I'm sorry…about that, uh, food last night. I…I put sleeping pills in them. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't think of anything else to do. You'd been following us for a week now, and I didn't know why, and Terrence wouldn't do anything, and it was driving me crazy. I had to do something. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize…I didn't know…"

I sighed heavily, looking between the Smoker, who still hid himself, and the Hunter, who was once again regarding me with what seemed to be curiosity. Then I looked at Terrence. His shadowed face was turned towards me, and within the shadows I could see his eyes wide and watching.

"This is crazy," I muttered. "I feel like I'm talking to myself. It's…so silent. Always so silent."

I looked up at them all in turn, thinking, remembering. Wishing more now than ever that there could be someone else, someone, anyone out there, who could speak back. I wanted to hear the sound of someone else's words. I wanted to hear _words_. Great, glorious spoken words that held more power than I had ever realized. I wondered how the Smoker and Hunter had managed all this time without words. How they had coped with the silence of gestures and moving lips and small noises that meant nothing past tone.

I wanted to hear words. I wanted to hear them so very badly that it almost physically hurt. But the only words left, it seemed, were my own. I wanted to hear myself speak. On and on and on. As long as I could go. I wanted to speak and to listen, even if I was the only one speaking, even if I was the only one to listen to. And…maybe, after all this time, it would do the Smoker and the Hunter some good as well.

"I guess that…Terrence wasn't able to tell you much," I started slowly, raising my eyes to look at the Hunter. "About who I am. Why he's with me. What's happened to the two of us. Well, he's probably managed to somehow tell you something of a general overview while I was sleeping all day. He's smart like that. But not the details. He couldn't tell you those. It's not his fault, I know. That's just the way things are. So how about I tell you the story. It's a pretty long story, but…it's not like we're short on time."

I glanced fleetingly at Terrence to find a small smile on his face as he rested back against the wall and closed his eyes. But I could tell he was still listening. It made me wonder briefly if he missed the sound of words as well. I certainly didn't talk that much to him anymore.

I laughed then, pathetically, but a laugh all the same. I returned my attention to the two Infected, to the Smoker who still hid and the Hunter who watched me with such careful, attentive curiosity. I wondered what he would think when I told him about me. About Terrence. He had known Terrence beforehand, after all. He knew more about who Terrence had once been than I could ever have discovered through pictures and videos and old English essays. "Well, here we are then. At the end of the world. Let me tell you how we've managed to retain our sanity. Then, maybe, we'll figure out a way so you can tell us how you retained yours."


	23. Move

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Move

I was the first one to wake the next morning shortly after dawn, the normal time my body woke me. It was a good sign, I suppose. I had only gotten a few hours more of sleep, but the rest from the day before appeared to be making up for it. Instead of doing anything productive, though, I simply sat there next to Terrence as he slept, idly stroking his hair and watching the camp lantern flicker in the dim attic. I expected the other three to be sleeping in late; the story had taken longer to tell than I had thought—it had felt so good to have other people to talk with again that I had slightly overdone it—and I knew that Terrence was still recovering from all the nights he had stayed up awake, watching and stressing and berating himself endlessly, and while I wasn't too sure about the Smoker and Hunter, I knew the Smoker, at least, would most likely still be suffering from aftereffects of the medication, something I still felt guilty about. Either way, I had a feeling they could all do with the extra sleep regardless.

My throat felt a different sort of hoarse that morning, the type that resulted from having been used more than usual rather than from sickness. I shifted my position slightly, eyes flickering sideways to Terrence's other side to the corner and the other Infected. The Hunter had fallen asleep sitting up against the wall, his companion sitting next to him, head rested on the other's shoulder. I tried not to stare at them too long, even though they weren't awake and so I shouldn't have been too worried about insulting them or anything. It was just strange, though, seeing other living creatures so close like this after all this time, and not only that but knowing who they were. Or at least, who they had been.

I was extremely curious as to their story, as to who they were now. But unless some sort of miracle occurred and I developed some sort of telepathic ability or something, then finding a way for them to tell Terrence and me their story was beyond me. It made me nervous, to tell the truth, although it took me a bit of brooding to realize that I wasn't really nervous about figuring out some sort of communication system or whatever it was that I originally thought was bothering me. I was more nervous about the fact that it looked like I would be living with two more Infected who couldn't speak and, as I could observe from their state of appearance and smell, couldn't take care of themselves like they once could. It was daunting. It was almost as if I was starting all over again from scratch with Terrence. And then besides that, how were we supposed to get along when three out of the four of us couldn't really talk?

It felt like some sort of riddle. No, more like a trap. And I was so tired. Just…so _tired_. Did I have the energy, the state of sanity left in me to adapt my life and my mind to live with two new companions? Two new Infected companions?

Would I ever be in the presence of any other sort ever again?

I turned onto my side the best I could what with being in a sitting position in order to get a better look at Terrence sleeping next to me. I flicked a long stray strand of dark brown hair off his forehead, smiling idly as my brain flashed the thought that I really needed to give him a haircut.

Such a normal thing, haircuts. And that was just what I needed right then—a little bit of normalcy to balance out all the insanity.

_Normalcy_. I sighed. I guess it didn't really matter in the end whether we managed to learn our new companions' story. Who knew if they were even going to stick around? Maybe I was just assuming too much. Like normal.

Normal. Normal, normal, _normal_. Maybe it was time to give up on that word.

I don't know how long I sat there brooding, watching as the sunlight creeping through the cracks in the boarded up window gradually brightened. It didn't seem like too long, though, before I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, the type of movement that was too prolonged and too drawn out to be simply responses to dreaming or position changes in sleep. I perked up to attention, dragging myself out of my awkward side lying position to sit up against the wall, my eyes wide and senses on full alert. Even though I wasn't in any real danger.

It was the Hunter—the _other_ Hunter—stirring from sleep. He raised his head and breathed deeply, rolling his free shoulder and his neck to wake up his muscles while being careful not to disturb the Smoker resting against him. I waited patiently, quietly, my body tensed as if expecting an attack despite the fact that my brain was telling me there was nothing that would attack me here. The Hunter had put his hood back up to cover his face before falling asleep, so I could only guess when he was looking at me. I felt it, though, as his eyes raised and he focused immediately on me.

We stared at each other silently for several heartbeats. And then my gaze lowered briefly to glance at Terrence, a part of me strangely half-hoping he would wake up. When I looked up again, the Hunter was checking on the Smoker, moving just enough to peer into his face.

I looked back down at Terrence, feeling an odd sort of tenseness in my throat, like there were words that wanted to come out, but I wasn't sure what ones to use. I felt like I should say something; I wanted to say something. Anything.

"Um…are you hungry?" I blurted out.

The Hunter's eyes snapped up to look at me, and I didn't need him to lower his hood to know that he was a bit taken aback, whether because he was still not used to hearing someone talk or because my morning greeting was not quite what he expected.

"Uh…I mean…breakfast. We don't have much, mostly just light stuff we could carry. We usually raid a grocery store or something every night for more filling stuff. But we have chips. And jerky. And those little boxes of cereal. You know, just something to get the day started until we can get out and look around, just in case we run into trouble right out of the gate." I knew I was babbling, but once I had started talking, I again found it difficult to shut up despite the sandpaper throat and the fact that I knew I was sort of embarrassing myself. "And I'm sure there's some food around here that we missed last night…or two nights ago, actually. I guess it's really been that long."

I shut up abruptly and my eyes automatically shot down to look at Terrence, anywhere except the still, hooded gaze of the Hunter. Then I realized how that must look to him and I forced myself to look back up, silently berating myself at how strangely asocial and shy I was behaving—when the hell had I ever been _shy_? He was still looking at me. Perhaps wondering if I was finished babbling like an idiot yet.

"Sorry, I'm not usually like this," I muttered. "I mean, I'm not…not usually babbling on like an idiot. It's just…weird…talking to someone who's not…not Terrence. It's been a while."

I hesitated, and then pushed myself off of the bed, taking care to make sure Terrence was still covered up. In the dimness of the church attic, I stood in silence, shivering and looking at the other Hunter, and then I went over to our discarded backpacks.

"Well, whether you're hungry or not, you should eat something," I said, pulling out the food we had left from both backpacks and piling it on the floor. "I have no idea what you eat…but right now, this is all we've got until we can go scavenging."

There was silence again as the Hunter continued to watch me, even as I sat back on the edge of the bedding and uncertainly ripped open a bag of jerky. The Hunter was only a few feet away, and I felt the force of his gaze on me as I looked up, holding the bag loosely towards him.

"Would you like some?"

He regarded me quietly for a moment. And then he glanced over at the Smoker, still sleeping against him.

"Oh. Right. Probably not a good idea to wake him up yet. He needs the sleep." I paused, and then I gritted my teeth and shakily stood. The Hunter made no sound or movement to discourage me as I warily sat down against the wall next to him, not too close, but close enough to see the reflected light in his eyes. Close enough to nearly be overwhelmed by the smell of blood and grime and filth from both Infected and the lingering smell of organic smoke from the Smoker that I was sure had long since permeated into my own clothing by now even at my previous proximity. Close enough to be able to offer the open bag of jerky in a range he could easily reach without disturbing his sleeping friend.

"Don't tell me you're a picky eater," I joked lamely, my mouth forming some sort of pathetic half smile when he simply sat there, staring at me with an unblinking gaze. "It's gotta be a while since you last ate something, and I promise I didn't poison this or anything. You saw me just barely open it."

He looked down at it, his expression—or what I could see of it—blank and unchanging. Then he looked back up at me again without a move to take the offered food and I sighed, feeling slightly awkward and a bit more exasperated.

"Well, suit yourself then," I muttered, withdrawing the package and drawing out a strand of jerky for myself as I relaxed back against the wall. Not that I could really call it relaxing. It seemed like every muscle in my body was twitching and tensing with anxiety. I stuck the food in my mouth, savoring the sharp taste and trying not to think of the aching, nearly nauseating hunger that shot through me in response.

I sat there chewing for a moment, attempting to not be too noisy in the silence of the attic while I listened to the steady breathing of the Hunters and the raspy, struggling breathing of the Smoker, punctuated by small, hoarse coughs. I focused my gaze ahead of me, trying not to notice that the Hunter was continuing to watch me with his unnervingly steady gaze.

And then he nudged me in the arm with his hand and I jumped, nearly spilling the jerky.

My head whipped around to look at him, more so surprised with the fact that I hadn't noticed him move with my peripheral vision than the fact that he had scared me. I noticed that his eyes had widened slightly in response to my less than graceful reaction, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a small smile. Then he slowly reached up and pulled his hood back down off his head, revealing the scarred, dirty, animalistic face that only vaguely echoed the pictures in Terrence's apartment. I wondered how I had been able to identify him so easily earlier; looking at him now, closer than I had ever been before, it seemed more difficult than ever to see the man I had gotten to know in the photographs.

We stared at each for a moment, as if both of us had no idea what to do next. Then he cleared his throat and held out his hand towards me. It took me a moment of staring at it in confusion for my brain to kick in and I once again offered the bag of jerky, opening it as wide as I could to allow him better access with clawed hands that looked as awkward as Terrence's had been. He carefully slid out several pieces into his hand and then turned away from me to eat them. I returned back to staring at the opposite wall, and it took me a moment to realize that I was smiling.

By the time Terrence woke up a short while later, the bag of jerky was finished, mostly by the other Hunter who I suspected was a lot hungrier than he let on. I was still sitting next to the other Hunter when Terrence woke, slowly at first as he stirred from sleep, and then with a small start as it seemed he realized I wasn't there next to him. He glanced around the attic quickly before his gaze was drawn to me as I hastily stood up and came back over to him, aware that the other Hunter was silently watching us.

"Did you get enough sleep?" I asked quietly, smiling at him as I kneeled in my vacated spot.

Sitting up slowly, he shyly smiled back and shrugged, the tense, partially panicked look on his face fading as his expression relaxed. I remembered the various similar incidences spread out over the past week but chose not to comment on it.

"Well, about time." I glanced over at the other Hunter, and Terrence did the same. It was a lot easier to tell when the Hunter was looking at me now what with his hood off, but without his blackened eyes obscured, it only seemed to make me more unnerved. "Then…I guess as soon as…as Bradley wakes up, we can get going."

I stopped short. It had suddenly occurred to me that in my tiredness and hoarseness of that night, I had wrapped up the story rather too quickly and forgotten to tell the two Infected what Terrence and I had planned now. I hesitated for a moment, trying to piece together what I wanted to say, and then I sat back with a sigh.

"I forgot to tell you," I said apologetically, and Terrence looked at me in curiosity. I spared him a glance before continuing. "We're—Terrence and me—we're trying to get to Little Beverly Hills. Winter's going to hit soon, and we need to find some decent shelter; you know, something with an electricity source since the power was cut out weeks ago during the first few days of the outbreak. So we figured…well, you know Little Beverly. Filled with all those rich people. There's bound to be a paranoid rich guy or something that has a house linked to solar panels or windmills or a generator or something. It's not much of a plan, but it's probably the best we're going to get; not like there's anywhere else we need to be going." I stopped, wetting my lips and letting my gaze drop slightly after forcing myself to look the other Hunter in his unnatural eyes. When I looked back up at him, my gaze was steady. "If you'd like to…you know, if you didn't have anything else planned…come with us."

Terrence made a small sound in the back of his throat, one that I recognized as encouragement. The other Hunter turned his unblinking gaze from me onto his former roommate, his face once again expressionless. He glanced at me briefly and then turned to stare at the Smoker sleeping on his shoulder.

"We can wait until he wakes up to decide, if you'd like," I said hastily. "It'd be nice having other people around, though. I mean, Terrence is great and all," I added, giving my companion a friendly sarcastic look that he rolled his eyes at, "but…empty city like this, it starts to get to you."

The Hunter sighed, his lips moving in silent words; I guessed pretty easily what he wanted to say though: he understood exactly what I meant.

"Would…you like to come with us?"

He looked up at me, and the expression in his eyes was all the answer I needed.

"Okay then."

It fell silent again. Terrence looked up at me expectantly, but I couldn't find anything else to say. So I just smiled. He nudged my knee almost comfortingly, and then he stood to rummage through the pile of food I had left out on the floor.

Most of the food was gone by the time Terrence and the other Hunter finished with it. Even though I had only eaten a few pieces of jerky, none of the food we had interested me in the slightest. So instead, I sat back on the bed and furtively watched Terrence and his roommate while I sorted through the inventory remaining in our backpacks. I knew the two had certainly interacted quite a bit during the time after I had collapsed back at the house, but I had yet to really observe them; I wasn't sure why I was so curious or why I tried to pretend like I wasn't watching them, but it seemed important somehow.

Or maybe I just really missed watching other people.

The first thing I noticed was that Terrence seemed hesitant about getting too close to his former roommate or looking at him directly for too long. I wondered if it had something to do with the reason Terrence had been so hesitant about forcing a confrontation before. Then I thought about the way Terrence had clutched at his forearm when his roommate had moved towards him. I made a mental note to ask Terrence about it later when we were alone.

I also noticed that the other Hunter—I took a moment to remind myself that his name was Fisher and that I'd better get used to it—seemed keen on not looking at Terrence as well. He stared mostly at his knees as Terrence ate, seemingly as awkward as I had felt when it had just been Fisher and me awake. When Terrence tentatively offered him a small bag of dried fruit, Fisher took it without looking his friend in the face.

The morning wore on in much the same manner. After eating his fill, Terrence came back to the bed and laid down in his spot next to me, staring up at the ceiling. Having finished eating much earlier, Fisher was resting his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. And Bradley continued sleeping. I wondered if the Smoker was so tired because he had been following us for so long or if he was just suffering from the aftereffects of the medication or if he just normally slept this long, but by the time early afternoon began to roll around, it looked like a combination of everything. He just kept sleeping.

And I started to get a bit impatient.

I'd repacked both backpacks several times in my fit of silent energy. Now that I was no longer stressing over having two unknown hunters on our tail, I was anxious to get going. I was sure winter was just a few days away from hitting us; in fact, I was surprised it hadn't done so already. For all I knew, the first snowstorm could hit us tomorrow. Even sometime later today. And snowstorms in this city were notorious for being long and heavy. I wanted us to get moving. I was hesitant about saying anything, though. Bradley was still sleeping, and I had a feeling Fisher would refuse to leave as long as his companion kept on sleeping. It was also probably partially my fault anyway that he was sleeping so long. But that didn't keep me from being at least a little impatient.

Terrence noticed. He didn't do anything about it at first, although I had a feeling it was because he didn't know what to do. I tried to stop fidgeting, knowing that it was making him anxious, but it was getting difficult. Even after all my previous experiences of being forced to wait, I still found it difficult to do so. That, and I knew that if we waited much longer, we wouldn't be able to make it to Little Beverly with enough sunlight to find a decent shelter. We'd been lucky so far, but luck only held out for so long.

When noon came and went according to my watch, I decided it was time to say something. I'd had enough time to debate on how to approach Fisher about leaving if Bradley didn't wake up in time for my liking. I was still hesitant about approaching him, though, but it seemed that if I didn't say something soon, then we would be spending another day and night in the musty, cold church attic with nothing to do but to wait.

I cleared my throat as I sat up from where I had been resting next to Terrence. At the sound, Terrence looked over at me curiously, and I glanced over at Fisher to see his blackened eyes opening enough to look at me.

"It's getting past noon," I said quietly, wary of how my voice sounded after so many hours of no other sound besides breathing, the rustling of items and cloth, and the Smoker's hoarseness and coughing. I met Fisher's gaze, and I saw the immediate defiance as he guessed what I was going to suggest. "We need to get going or it'll be dark by the time we get to Little Beverly. Terrence?" I addressed my friend quickly as Fisher sat up abruptly, his expression falling into a stubborn scowl, just as expected. "Would you be able to carry Bradley?"

Terrence glanced at his former roommate as he slid himself up into a sitting position. Then he looked at me and nodded once.

Fisher growled, and both Terrence and I looked up over at him to find his blackened eyes narrowed and his stained teeth bared in warning. Terrence immediately snarled back in response, rolling onto all fours in front of me rather defensively. The move was enough to silence Fisher. The animalistic stubbornness and anger on his face fell away as if a mask. He suddenly looked worried. Maybe…ashamed.

Somehow, I knew what I needed to do about the situation; I vaguely realized that whatever happened here would set the precedence for the future. I couldn't have Terrence coming to the defense whenever something went badly. I felt like a coward, hiding behind my weapon, another Hunter who was larger and most likely stronger and faster than Fisher. And it seemed, perhaps, that Terrence held something else over his former roommate's head. Something to do with Terrence's fear and strange behavior. Something that I had a feeling would make it so Fisher would do whatever Terrence wanted him to do, which pretty much meant everything I wanted him to do. But I didn't want Terrence to make Fisher's decisions for him like this. We couldn't start off this way.

I snagged Terrence's coat by his arm and tugged back on it firmly, ignoring the surprised look he gave me as he shot a glance over his shoulder.

"No, Terrence," I said tersely. "If he has a problem with it, that's fine. I understand. If I was the one sleeping, I'm pretty sure you'd be acting the same if someone wanted to move me before I woke up."

He took a moment to consider this. Then he scowled but grudgingly eased back all the same.

I moved a step closer to Fisher, lining up even with Terrence so he was no longer between me and the other Hunter. I could see the disgruntled wariness and confusion in the other Hunter's eyes as he watched me. "I'm sorry, Fisher. I know that he needs the sleep. But just hear me out for a minute. If we leave now, we'll be able to make it to Little Beverly with hopefully enough time to find some decent shelter. Someplace warm. With most likely some electricity, if we get lucky. Don't you think he'll be more comfortable there? He'll be able to sleep all he likes then; we'll all be able to. But not if we don't leave now. Winter's almost here. If we wait one more day, we might end up stuck here or in some place even worse." I paused. "Terrence can carry Bradley so he can get more sleep on the way. We want both of you to come with us…please. With the four of us…well, it'd probably be better than the way things are now, don't you think?"

He stared at me with his unnerving gaze, and I forced myself to stare back, to hold his eyes with mine. It felt like a silent battle to see who would look away first; I didn't know what we were fighting for.

But in the end, I won for whatever reason. In the end, the Hunter made a discontented, rumbling sound in the back of his throat and at last dropped his gaze. He turned to his friend and gently attempted to prod him awake. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding and turned to my own companion who was looking at me with an unreadable expression that I understood all the same.

I smiled and punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Don't look at me like that, you. Now go get ready. We've got a little while left to go."

Terrence winked at me and went to gather his stuff, pulling on the bulky coat he had discarded in favor of the blankets and sleeping bags and picking up his backpack. I did the same, watching out of the corner of my eye as Bradley slowly stirred, coughing weakly and looking around at his friend with half-lidded eyes as he sat up and rubbed his face gingerly. The other Hunter made another strange noise in the back of his throat, adjusting himself into a crouching position and making several gestures, most towards us or towards the stairs leading downstairs to the exit. It was difficult for me to read the expression on the Smoker's face, especially since I was trying not to let him notice me looking at him. Fisher appeared to get the point across eventually, though. I turned my back to quickly search the back of the attic to ensure we hadn't missed anything, and when I turned back around, Fisher was helping the Smoker up to his feet, making sure his coat was zipped up and that he was steady enough to stand on his own. I moved slowly towards them to stand next to Terrence who was standing in the middle of the attic, his pale eyes flitting about in an attempt to simultaneously not have to look at the other Infected and check if we had missed anything.

I pursed my lips together and cleared my throat. "Is…he going to be all right walking?"

The other Hunter barely spared me a glance. It was enough to tell me that I probably shouldn't be pushing things right now. Without another word, I looked pointedly at Terrence and set off down the stairs.

It was a relief to see the sun shining outside, offering what meager warmth it could in the frigid air. But then I saw the gray clouds looming on the horizon. I remembered that it had been cloudy a few days before; maybe those were the same clouds, moving off to somewhere else. Or maybe they were new ones coming in.

Maybe we really had left just in time to beat the oncoming winter. But then, maybe we were already too late.

Despite this depressing thought, I couldn't help but feel a significant raise in my spirits as we got our bearings and started off down the deserted, littered street. We were on our way again, this time without the anxiety of being hounded and hunted by nearly invisible shadows. Although it would certainly take some time getting used to the fact that Terrence and I were traveling with two other companions now. The two of them walked a short distance behind us; Fisher seemed to be struggling with the whole walking on two legs bit. He avoided dropping to all fours, but he had the distinctive partially crouched bend to his back that I remembered Terrence having. Not that anyone would suspect Terrence of once walking like that just by looking at him now.

Our pace as a whole was slower than usual, mainly because of the Smoker, because of Bradley, although I tried to pretend not to notice. Bradley still seemed to be shaking off the effects of the medication, and I suspected that he was also in a bad mood from having been woken up. I wondered how Fisher had gotten him to follow us and keep up, especially since Terrence and I woke early and moved quickly, or at least quicker than we moved now. And then there was the occasional, persistent coughing. And the fact that now I had more than just Terrence to keep an eye on as we walked.

Definitely going to take getting used to.

Terrence seemed to take it in stride easily enough, even though I noticed he tried not to look at them any more than he could avoid. He kept his pace slowed down enough to let them keep up, but past that, he seemed to be pretending they weren't there. I still wasn't too sure why. Shouldn't he be happy that his roommate was still alive? Infected, sure, but…at least he wasn't just another mindless echo of a human. It was great that he was coming along. Great that we had two new companions, two more people to share the dead city with, two more people to help remind us of our humanity and our hope.

Wasn't that a good thing?

I had the whole afternoon to think about it. Well, most of it. We had to stop and rest a few times, primarily for the sake of the Smoker, even though Fisher tried to pass it off as his own tiredness. During the breaks, I tried not to look at the Smoker in case he got the wrong idea again. But it was difficult. It was always the thing that you shouldn't look at that you wanted to look at the most. Then by mid afternoon, we had entered the inner outskirts of Little Beverly Hills, evident by the increase in upper class brand name stores and expensive restaurants and posh apartments, and my concerns about Terrence's strange behaviors were pushed to the side in favor of excitement. I hadn't been that far into this part of town before, but Terrence seemed to know where he was going well enough. He found us Main Street and we walked on until the business buildings became houses that became more and more spread out. Until driveways became gated and lined with towering trees and walls and wide lawns that had once been so carefully manicured but now sat in varying states of disarray.

And the black clouds from afar drew closer and the cold air turned colder still. But it didn't matter.

We'd made it to our destination at last.

"Finally," I said, and I couldn't keep myself from smiling as I looked up at Terrence. He smiled back. I glanced behind us to the Smoker and Hunter, who had stopped a few feet away; the Hunter was looking around in boredom and the Smoker had resorted back to keeping his face as hidden in his coat collar as possible. I said nothing for a moment, looking up and down the street at the spread out, casual line of houses. "Well, let's look around, then. I don't like the looks of those clouds, and we still have to find dinner for tonight besides finding shelter."

Terrence nodded and started towards the nearest house without needing a cue from me. I started off after him, noticing in my peripheral the other Hunter and the Smoker glance at each other before slowly following.

The first house we looked at was styled after something in the Victorian era. Its windows and doors had been boarded up, and it took several long precious minutes to find a small entrance in a back door. We checked the power in the first room we went into. Nothing. And we hadn't noticed any sort of internal power source on the outside during our search for an entrance.

We moved on.

There was no power in the next house we tried. Or the third. Or the fourth. We searched the entire street and then moved to the next. It was taking longer than I had hoped, however dim that hope had been, not only because apparently the rich people in this part of town weren't as paranoid as I thought, but because the houses were further apart, most were heavily boarded up and fortified, and our pace was slower with four instead of two. And I was starting to slow down, despite my determination not to show it.

I looked towards the horizon. The clouds were covering nearly half the sky now. The last bunch hadn't dropped us with snow, luckily. But I wasn't so certain that would be the case this time. We needed to hurry. There was one easy way to do so.

At the next empty house we stopped at, we found another empty building once again lacking the electricity we wanted. Obviously frustrated, Terrence immediately turned to stalk off and move on, but this time, I didn't follow.

"This isn't working."

He faltered to a stop to look over at me; in the corner of my eye, I saw Fisher look up from where he was idly looking around the room we stood in. Bradley kept his gaze down and his back to me.

I took a breath. "Those clouds are getting closer; they'll be here within a few hours. We don't have the time to waste to wait for them. Maybe they're nothing, but maybe they aren't. We need to find shelter as fast as we can. Terrence…and Fisher. You two can move faster than Bradley and I can, and if you run into Infected…well, we haven't seen any so far, so we should be fine in that area. We'll wait here in one of the rooms while you two go ahead and try to find something."

Terrence scowled bitterly, his mouth opening in a disagreeing bark-like sound. Fisher's reaction was much the same. His standing posture deteriorated instinctively into the typical Hunter crouch, and instead of barking, he growled furiously.

"Shut up, you two," I snapped, and my voice was unnaturally loud in the quiet before the storm. "Terrence—do what I tell you. I don't know what's been bothering you the past few days, but now is _not_ the time for it. I'll be fine. I can take care of myself against an empty house." I whirled about to face the crouching Hunter to my side and the Smoker attempting to melt into the shadows. "Fisher—shut up. I know I don't have any reason to give for you to trust me or to even like me let alone listen to me, but just…shut _up_." I took a quick breath and forced my voice to soften and lower. Just a bit. "I don't know what's happened to you the past few months since the Outbreak; I don't know what's happened to you _or_ Bradley, and I think I have a good enough idea what happened between you and Terrence. But I _get_ that some pretty crappy stuff has happened in the past, okay? But we've got a problem right now, if you haven't noticed—winter's about ready to kick our asses and we're in the middle of an apocalypse and our best hope is to find someplace where we can hold out until spring. Maybe longer. And our best chance to do that before we get ourselves into more trouble than we can handle is to do things my way, okay?"

I paused, staring stubbornly at the other Hunter. "I'll take care of Bradley," I told him. "He's my friend now, too. Terrence will trust me with him—" I shot a look at my friend "—and you're going to trust him with me. We're in this together, all right? All four of us. So maybe we should start acting like it."

I stopped, and silence filled the void that my voice had filled. Fisher had long since stopped growling, but he hadn't moved from his offensive crouch. I glanced sidelong at Terrence to find him staring at me, his face expressionless. The silence stretched. No one moved.

"Get going," I said at last. My voice sounded different. Less loud. Less fierce. Just tired now. "Both of you." I stepped up to Bradley's side. Immediately, the Smoker turned his face away from me, clutching his coat collar around his face once again and trying to stifle a coughing fit. Fisher started to growl in warning, but I shot a look at him and the sound faded almost as soon as it had started. "I told you, I'll take care of him," I said shortly. "Now scram. The sooner you get going, the sooner you'll get back, right?"

I turned my back to him and faced Bradley, despite the fact that he in turn was resolutely keeping his back to me. I heard Terrence make a small noise from the doorway, and I looked up to meet his gaze. He stared at me a moment, searching as he always did, and then he glanced at Fisher and turned and left. Movement caught my eye and I instinctively turned towards it to find the remaining Hunter slowly rising up into a standing position. He stared at me from beneath the hood he had drawn back up around his face when we had left the church, and there was enough dying light left in the room for me to see that his expression was set and cold.

For a moment, I was scared.

And then, somehow, I found it in me to turn my back on him again. More movement caught my eye, but I didn't turn around to watch the Hunter follow after his roommate.

Quite suddenly, it was just the Smoker and I left alone in an abandoned house in the middle of nothing.

* * *

**Author's Babble: **Oh wow, sorry it's been so long since I last updated. Lots of reasons, but I won't bore you with them besides one—I've been drawing more. Yep. The balance between art and writing in my life is quite often upset in favor of one or the other, and the past little while, it was in favor of art. Here's an update though! Bit of a boring update, but ah well.


	24. Hold

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Hold

"You don't have to hide," I said kindly, trying to keep my ragged voice as gentle as I could manage. "Come on, Bradley. Don't stand there in the corner like that."

When he continued to keep himself turned away, I sighed and turned my attention to assessing the place. We were in a large, spacious living room that looked like it could have been straight out of a home design magazine if not for the boarded up windows and lack of power. The openness made me nervous. My hand clutched at my katana hilt for comfort.

"We need to find a better room," I muttered. I glanced back at the Smoker in time to see him hastily turn his head away after sneaking a fleeting look at me with his good eye. I smiled. Then I realized something. "Oh, I forgot—you haven't eaten anything at all today, have you? We…sort of left in a hurry." I paused. "Well, come on then, let's go see what's in the kitchen."

I walked off in the direction I thought would most likely be the kitchen, wondering if the Smoker would follow. He did, albeit hesitantly, keeping to the walls and the shadows and still hiding his face as he dragged himself slowly in my wake.

It was strange walking through the empty house. Mostly, Terrence and I had avoided homes when we could. It always felt like we were invading something private, even if no one lived there anymore.

A hallway over I found a glorious kitchen to match the living room, all wood and marble and black steel. I grinned, pulling out my flashlight. "Well, this is more like it."

It was easy to locate the pantry, although the room looked more like a mini grocery store. Whoever had once lived in this house had left it decently stocked with a variety of nonperishable foods, just like most of the other buildings in this city. It was all relatively untouched and unnervingly well organized. I opened my backpack and dumped in whatever I could—canned soup, juice boxes, chips, crackers. I wasn't too worried about the weight; hopefully, we'd be settled down somewhere before too long. Plus, I had a feeling the Smoker would eat a sizeable chunk of it.

When I reemerged, my backpack heavy with food, it was to find the Smoker standing uncertainly in the doorway of the kitchen, half hidden by the wall as he watched me. I met his eyes only briefly as I went to rummage through the drawers in search of silverware. I didn't dare look in the fridge; I could smell the contents of it well enough without opening the door.

Finished, I started back the way I had come, trying not to notice how the Smoker immediately backpedaled up against the wall when I came his way, his face turned to the side. Bypassing the living room we had come from, I cautiously poked around the house, shining my flashlight into the dark shadows where the light from the cracks in the windows couldn't reach.

Finally, I found what I was looking for: a small side room just off what looked like a second living room, although "small" may have been only a relative term—it was larger than my bedroom at my parents' house. It only had one entrance and no windows. A death trap, perhaps, if anything nasty came looking for us. But it was in the center of the house, and I had my sword. And Terrence surely would have sensed something nasty in the vicinity. I wasn't too worried.

The room was comfortable enough and had probably been used as a quiet study. It had a bookshelf taking up one wall and a set of matching comfortable furniture, the type just asking to be lounged in. I dropped my backpack on the ground and plopped myself on a couch with a sigh, setting the flashlight next to me and resting my head back and my eyes shut for just a moment. When I opened them again, I noticed the Smoker once again standing uncertainly at the doorway. I smiled at him.

"It's okay. Come and sit down. Take a break."

I unzipped my backpack and set out utensils, some canned precooked soup, and a can opener onto the coffee table in front of me. At seeing the food, Bradley tentatively sat on the opposite end of the couch, keeping as much distance between the two of us as he could.

"I wish we could warm this up, but it's better than nothing, right?" I said, opening one of the soup cans. I snatched up one of the spoons and stuck it in, then took a deep breath and looked up at him. I offered it over slowly. He stared at it over the collar of his coat, his single good eye lacking readable expression.

"Yeah, I know, you, me, and soup don't really get along." I tried a wavering smile. "But you just saw me open it right here. There's nothing wrong with it. I promise. Please trust me. And you need to eat something. You never know when we'll be able to sit down and eat next, right?"

His eyes flickered upward to look at me for a brief second. Then he turned his face away.

I tried not to feel frustrated. This was just like this morning with Fisher, only I had a feeling I'd have to be a lot gentler with Bradley.

"Well, okay then. I'll just leave it here on the table if you change your mind, okay?"

I withdrew and busied myself with a new can of soup, trying to watch the Smoker in my peripheral without making it look like I was watching him. He continued to sit there, scrunched up against the armrest, but I noticed his eyes focused on the can.

The first spoonful of my soup touched my lips, and my hunger flared painfully, distracting me for a moment from the Smoker. Yeah, the soup was cold, the air was cold, and I had already eaten earlier that morning, but food was food. I did feel slightly guilty as I shoveled soup into my mouth—the Hunters were probably hungry, too. We hadn't really had lunch. It looked like there was lots of food to raid in this area, though. I would make sure none of us went hungry.

I made it halfway through the can before I looked over at Bradley again. As soon as he noticed, he quickly turned his gaze away, coughing hoarsely.

"Come on, Bradley," I said softly. "Are you not eating because you don't like me, or are you really not hungry?"

He made no move to reply, his gaze fixed on the wall.

"Do you need help eating?"

His good eye blinked as he glanced over at me, almost condescendingly. But the look was immediately ruined as his stomach audibly pronounced its hunger.

Embarrassed, he hurriedly turned himself away again, hiking up his collar even further around his face and hunching over, coughing harshly. I looked down at my soup, trying not to smile at a familiar memory. Okay, so he was hungry. I guess he just didn't like me then. That, or he didn't like soup.

I debated on just leaving the matter alone. Maybe it would be best to wait for Fisher to come back. Fisher knew what Bradley liked. I was sure he knew how to get him to eat, and the Smoker was comfortable in the Hunter's presence. Just like Terrence and me.

I set my soup can down on the table. No, this might be the only chance I could establish some sort of friendship with Bradley without Fisher around. I was sure that if I didn't try to make amends with the Smoker now, he would keep hiding behind Fisher, and Fisher had already made it clear that he didn't trust me with his friend. I wasn't sure how long the four of us would remain together, but if it was going to be for a long time, I didn't want every moment in their presence to be awkward.

And maybe if Bradley started to like me, Fisher would be more tolerable with me, too.

"Look, Bradley," I started slowly. "You and Fisher have been through a lot together. I realize that, and I think I can understand. Terrence and I…we haven't exactly had the best time ourselves. Well, you know, I told you guys that whole sob story already. But…anyway …" I sighed. "We've been stuck with our friends for a long time. Well, not stuck, but…they've been the only people in our lives for…for weeks. Months. We've gotten really attached to them; I have, anyway, and it looks like you have, too. That's not bad, but I guess after all we've been through with our friends, it's hard to have someone else kind of invade that.

"It's been weird for me to be talking to someone who isn't Terrence. It's almost kind of scary. You and me, we don't really know anything about each other. But I know everything about Terrence. I know what he likes to eat, how he likes to sleep. I know what he's scared of. What he misses. What makes him angry and happy and sad. I'm not worried about what I do or what I say or…or how I look around him. I'm pretty sure you and Fisher are the same way. That's just what this whole mess has done to us. It's made us hold on tighter to the people that matter to us."

I paused to give my voice a rest for a moment, watching Bradley closely, no longer concerned with him noticing that I was looking. He remained staring ahead, but from what little I could see of his unblemished face, his expression had softened encouragingly.

"I know we got off to a pretty crappy start, but I'd like to be your friend. If you don't mind. I won't feel offended if you don't want that. I know it's hard to trust someone, especially with what you've been through. But, if that's the case, I at least don't want you to have to go hungry because of me. I don't want you to think I'm judging you or laughing at you or…or trying to hurt you."

I picked up the untouched soup can and held it out between us. "Come on. Have something to eat. I don't know when those two are going to get back, and I don't want you sitting here hungry. Please?"

Bradley glanced at me furtively, but still he hesitated. For a moment, I vividly was reminded of weeks ago in the safe house when I tried to bring Terrence to trust me for the first time. This was different, though. Despite all his physical deformities, Bradley seemed more human. Maybe because he wasn't crouching like an animal. Maybe because I knew his name. Or maybe I was the one who was different.

I stirred the soup experimentally, still keeping it resolutely between us and held out as far from me as possible. Bradley watched me carefully, but he still made no move. I tried to think of what I could do next. With Terrence, I had simply had to be patient and tough it out, but I didn't have the strength to do that anymore. And I didn't think Bradley would react the same.

"Do…do you mind if I sit next to you?"

He blinked in what I assumed to be surprise. It seemed he almost didn't know how to answer. After a moment, he gave noncommittal shrug.

I smiled reassuringly, calmly sliding across the couch until there was only a foot or so between us. Bradley tensed up at my approach, but I kept the soup can held high and visible. Sitting next to him, I could easily smell the faint odor of unusual smoke underlying the much stronger smell of grime and filth. It wasn't all together unpleasant, but it would take a little while to get used to probably. I also got a better look at his skin. It looked ghastly, but I wanted to believe it was because I was fairly sure he hadn't had a shower in weeks. The tongue-like appendage hanging from his mouth and partially hidden in his coat was another matter. It glistened with slime, and I had to resist staring at it.

I tentatively held out the can.

Bradley's stomach rumbled audibly again, and he cringed. I smiled in what I hoped was an understanding way.

"If you don't like soup, I can find you something else. We can always go back to the kitchen. There's lots of food in that pantry. I just grabbed what I thought would be good, but I don't want to force you to eat something you don't like."

His gaze flickered up to look at my face, then down to look at the food. Slowly, he released his collar with his unblemished hand and shakily took the soup can from me.

My smile widened as I withdrew my hand and turned away back to my own soup. I wasn't hungry anymore, but I needed something to do. I didn't like having someone watch me while I ate, especially if that someone was a stranger, and I was pretty sure Bradley was the same way. I kept watch on him in my peripheral out of curiosity. How did Smokers eat with such big fat things trailing from their mouths? They certainly couldn't chew, and for all I knew, the tongue thing went down into their throat and made it difficult to swallow. But they had to get nutrition somehow, surely. Bradley wasn't some reanimated corpse. He was just like Terrence. Living and breathing and everything. He needed to be able to eat.

Bradley turned away from me a little, holding the soup close to his torso. He transferred the can to his other hand, steadying it against his side so he could maneuver the spoon with his good hand. He started stirring the contents of the can around forcefully, smashing the larger chunks of vegetables against the side and shredding the meat down to nothing. In a few minutes, he had the consistency down to almost applesauce-like texture, which he started to spoon little by little into the corner of his mouth on his non-tumor side. The process was tedious and time consuming, but he did with practiced ease. And at the sight of it, a tense knot in my chest seemed to release slightly in relief.

I realized after a moment that I had turned to watch him, my own can held loosely in my hand. Bradley glanced over and saw me looking, and he turned away further almost automatically.

"Hey, no, sorry, I don't mean to stare. I was just curious. I've never really gotten to take a look at a Smoker before." The words almost made me want to slap myself. That was tactless. Bradley suddenly stopped eating. He stared down at his food, his shoulders tightening. "Wait…that wasn't what I meant. I meant…okay, look, when Terrence and I first started out together, he couldn't really feed himself. He couldn't even hold a spoon right. I was just wondering if you were going to be the same. There's nothing wrong with that, I just…"

I sighed. Then after a moment's consideration, I cautiously reached out to rest my fingers on his arm closest to me, the one mostly normal. This fabric of his sleeve felt stiff and rough with grime. His gaze snapped down to look at my hand in surprise.

"Remember what I said earlier about how we know everything about our friends, but nothing about each other? It's that. I just want to try to figure you out. I want to be able to help you, and I want to be able to help Fisher, too, if he ever lets me. But I can't do that very well if I don't know anything about you. I'm sorry this whole thing with me and Terrence and you two has been…not the best. I'm pretty sure you would have been fine if we had never met, right? But Fisher…we all…we all sort of dragged you in with us. Well, mostly me. It's just I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, okay? I don't want you to think that. I don't intend to hurt you in anyway. I understand that you don't like me looking at you, but…I'm just really glad to see another living creature who isn't an enemy. Is that okay?"

For a long minute, it was silent. Then he blew out a long sigh, his gaze still watching my hand. But then he looked up into my face, his lopsided gaze searching my expression. Instinctively, I wanted to look away, but I resisted the urge. I studied the sloping tumors engulfing one side of his face; they weren't that bad, actually. I had seen worse on other Smokers. His bangs had grown out to sort of hide the top of the deformity, and I noticed that he wasn't growing any facial hair, much like Terrence. His eyes were faded like Terrence's, too, but unlike my Hunter's, they held a sort of yellowish reflection.

I turned away to pluck out some napkins from my backpack and used them to carefully wipe away some soup that had unavoidably dribbled out of the side of his mouth. He turned away at first, embarrassed, but I gently turned his face back to finish, and he let me, his eyes flickering up more and more to look me in the face.

I tossed the used napkins aside and grinned at him. "So, what do you say, would you like to be friends?"

The Smoker continued to look at me, and for the first time, he met my gaze and held it. As his embarrassment faded into nothing, he nodded, and I thought I saw the unmarred corner of his mouth pull up slightly in a small smile.

The atmosphere in the small room improved drastically after that. Bradley no longer tried to hide or shut himself off as much. When he finished his first can of soup, he accepted another and then another. While he ate, I stood and stretched my muscles by walking around the small room, browsing the bookshelf and pausing to look at various paintings fixed on the wall in order to keep myself awake and on guard.

When Bradley finished eating, he set down his last empty can next to the others on the coffee table and sat back uncertainly, staring down at his hands as if trying to figure out what to do next. I came back to sit next to him.

"I hope they haven't run into any trouble," I muttered, glancing out the door. The light streaming in through small spaces in the boarded up windows seemed to be getting dimmer. "And I hope they get back soon. It's too early to be getting dark, so I think that storm is moving in. I don't want to be stuck here in it without them."

Bradley coughed and shyly touched my arm with his good hand. I looked at him in surprise before smiling. "Yeah, I'm probably worrying too much, huh? Those two can take care of themselves."

We sat in silence for several more minutes. After a while, I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to get up and go, get up and do something. There were books to read here, but I'd read more than enough back at Terrence's apartment. They couldn't keep me interested anymore. I wish the electricity was working. Then we could watch a movie or listen to some music or something. But if that was the case, then the Hunters would be here, and I'd have enough to do with settling us in.

Eventually, I realized that Bradley was staring at me. I glanced over at him, then realized that he was watching me because I had started fidgeting. My legs were jittering up and down, and I had started tapping my fingers on my knees. I stopped both movements immediately.

"Sorry, it's just…I hate waiting. You're going to learn pretty quickly that I'm not a very patient person."

Bradley frowned slightly. It was almost difficult to tell his expression in the dimness, even sitting right next to him, but I realized that he wasn't frowning because he was displeased with me. He seemed to be thinking something over.

As I watched, he nervously pulled out what looked like a small notepad and a pen from his coat pocket. With the movement, it seemed he had half a mind to stuff it back out of sight, like he wanted to show it to me but wasn't sure if he trusted me enough to do so. I looked down at the two items curiously, wanting to ask what they were for but worried that if I spoke he would change his mind and hide them away again.

He glanced up into my eyes one more time, then hesitantly flipped open the notebook to a clean page, resting it on his knee with his tumor-covered hand, which seemed to be good for nothing more than steadying and holding things. Then he expertly positioned the pen in his good hand and placed the tip of it against the paper.

For a brief moment, I thought he was going to start writing. I felt a lurch of excitement that almost made me lightheaded. But when I realized his strokes weren't forming words, the excitement crashed away, only to rekindle vaguely when I realized there was a purpose to each pen stroke. No, they weren't words, not in any language. But they were something else. Something I recognized.

"You can draw," I whispered disbelievingly as his sketch started to take shape. "And you can draw…really good. Left-handed, too, that's pretty cool."

He glanced up at me in between strokes, smiling timidly. On that small rectangular paper in front of us, a very stylized but easily recognizable rendition of a person took form.  
"Whoa! Hey, is that me?"

He didn't nod, but I didn't need him to. It _was_ me, katana in hand, fighting off the Hunter from the fight when Terrence and I had first encountered Fisher and Bradley. It was such a small drawing, so simple with hardly an unnecessary pen stroke, but it was detailed enough that the piece seemed to have a life of its own. With each passing moment, I felt my excitement grow, my weariness and worry and impatience disappear. I felt reinvigorated. The weight that had grown on my shoulders since adopting these two new Infected into my life lifted slightly.

When he was finished, he held it out to me hesitantly. I took it carefully from him and stared down at it in awe.  
"Wow. _Wow_. That…that was unexpected. Really cool but…_completely_ unexpected. I can't believe this! Can you write, too?"

Bradley's gaze lowered. He shook his head.

"Ah. Hey, Terrence can't write either. Of course, he can't draw like you either—or if he can, he's never showed me. But…Bradley, this is really awesome. You're really good at drawing."

I looked up to see him smiling, still a little nervously but obviously pleased that I was so excited. "Can I look at the rest of your notebook?"

He nodded. I flipped the pages back to the beginning. On every page, both front and back, there were little drawings, little sketches, some more clean than others. Most of them were objects—clothes, shoes, various food items, first aid supplies, doors, buildings. Others were quick sketches of two people: Fisher and Bradley. About halfway through looking at them, the understanding of what I was seeing hit me. This was how Bradley communicated with Fisher. He talked through drawing.

I started looking more closely at his art, trying to decipher what it was each piece wanted to say. The objects were obviously things that Bradley was telling Fisher he wanted or needed. The drawings of them showed actions, like eating, sleeping, or hiding. A few here and there were actually sketches of places; the most recent were mostly like this, and I unnervingly recognized them as places Terrence and I had passed or stayed at since the fight days ago.

When I was finished, I handed the small notebook back to him. "You know, I was wondering earlier how you and Fisher got a long without being able to talk. I'm not going to lie—I was kind of disappointed when neither of you could talk." I smiled widely. "Thanks for showing me that, Bradley."

He shrugged as if to say, "No problem."

"Where did you learn to draw like that? Did you teach yourself?"

The next hour passed easily. I asked questions, and then I watched Bradley draw the answers. Before either of us knew it, he had gone through several dozen pages. It was fascinating to watch, and I found myself quietly sitting there looking over his shoulder. I grabbed the flashlight and held the beam onto the paper so he could see better as he drew. His hesitance and nervousness had all but disappeared, and he became more and more eager to draw.

Halfway through drawing a picture of a scene from his favorite movie, he suddenly stopped and looked up, staring out through the open door. Immediately, I was on guard, my fingers snatching up my katana and flicking off the flashlight before I even had time to think about it. I listened intently, straining my hearing to pick out any unusual sounds. I couldn't hear anything. But Bradley had, and that was enough for me.

After several tense moments, I heard a distant creak in the floor. A footstep. I stood up, heart pounding in my ears, all senses straining in the darkness and ready for trouble. Was it one of the guys coming back? I wasn't sure. I didn't want to assume. I glanced down at Bradley. He was sitting up, holding utterly still. He had even managed to suppress his coughing for the moment. I couldn't see his expression.

I pointed the flashlight at the door, ready to blind whatever it was that was walking through the house. My sweaty grip on the katana tightened. Suddenly, choosing this room seemed like a terrible idea. There was nowhere to retreat through. I could shut the door, but the sound would be the perfect alert to say, "Hey, we're right here." I may as well just start shouting.

Then a soft, familiar whine echoed through the house. I relaxed immediately, blowing out a heavy breath of relief.

"We're in here, Terrence," I called out, my voice cracking with tense hoarseness. I flicked on the flashlight and shone it through the doorway. Terrence appeared in the light within moments. He paused at the doorway for a moment to look around, and then he strode over to me and started his usual inspection to make sure I was in one piece. Completely unnecessary, but it made him feel better.

Fisher appeared several seconds later, looking less certain and much more hesitant and moody. But upon seeing Bradley struggle up to stand to greet him, he was at the Smoker's side in an instant helping him up.

I straightened Terrence's coat collar and brushed the front of his jacket. It was wet with melting snow. I felt my stomach drop. "How was it? Did you find anything?"

My Hunter nodded eagerly, brushing away stray strands of hair from my forehead and looking very pleased with himself. I gently batted his hand aside, glancing around him at the other two. Fisher had drawn Bradley several steps away and had placed himself firmly between him and us as he looked his friend over. The similarity between the two Hunters was weird, but not unexpected.

"We better get going then, especially if it's already started to snow."

Terrence nodded again and started out through the door. I followed him a little more slowly, glancing over at the other two. When I passed them, Fisher shot me a coldly appraising look. I stopped immediately and stared back at him.

"Is there a problem?"

Fisher glared at me. His upper lip raised slightly as if to growl, but then he glanced at the doorway. I looked, too. Terrence stood there, staring in at his roommate, his expression hard and warning. Fisher immediately pressed his lips together in a flat line.

"Terrence, it's okay," I muttered quickly before turning back to the other Hunter. "Is there a problem, Fisher? Did I do something wrong to Bradley while you were gone?"

Fisher's eyes narrowed, but Bradley hurriedly reached out and rested his good hand on his friend's shoulder. The Hunter searched my expression one last time before looking away, grabbing Bradley's arm and herding him out of the room in front of him. Terrence stepped aside, watching them closely as they passed him, but Fisher refused to look up at him and they disappeared into the shadows.

I stared at my friend as he turned to stare back at me.

"What was that about?"  
He stood silent for a moment, frowning to himself. And then he shook his head and shrugged.

I sighed. "We should probably get after them before they get too far, but I want to know…how was it out there with just the two of you?"

Again it was a few moments before Terrence answered. I stepped up to him, looking up into his face to search his expression. He seemed frustrated. And sad. I stuffed the flashlight into my pocket and slid my hand into his.

"Was it a smart idea, letting them come along with us?"

Terrence just shook his head slowly. Not to disagree. But just to let me know that he wasn't sure yet. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed reassuringly back.


	25. Settle

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Settle

By the time we reached the house, we were all coated in a thin layer of snow, and the storm was getting worse. Both Bradley and I slipped more than once on the slick sidewalk. The Hunters had better footing, but all four of us were cold and anxious and miserable. It didn't help that Bradley's and Fisher's clothing was definitely not suited for the change in weather. Bradley walked close to Fisher for warmth, and although Fisher tried to downplay it, he was shivering.

Around us, the world was white, and the snow dampened every sound. It was eerie, and although I was with the others, I felt that strange sort of lonely that emptiness brings. It was with a great amount of relief for all of us when Terrence made an eager sound and pointed ahead to a comparatively modest stone house set atop a hill.

The sight filled my chest with an aching sort of warmth. I'd seen it for less than a few seconds, and I couldn't help liking it immediately. Couldn't help admiring its graceful stone arches and rounded balconies. I didn't know much about architecture, but the place looked awesome, even perched as it was on that lonely hill, its three floors raised above the low level of trees that surrounded the hill's base.

But it could have been a one roomed shack for all I cared. Just as long as it had what we needed.

My gaze blinked through the falling snowflakes and darkening light, quickly assessing the structure in search of the reason Terrence and Fisher had chosen it. Like many of the other houses we passed, the doors and windows were boarded up. But unlike the other houses, I saw solar panels on the roof, and if I listened closely, I could hear the slight hum of a nearby generator. I couldn't suppress a giddy grin, my grip on Terrence's hand tightening expectantly. Finally. After everything…_finally_.

We slipped our way up the hill and entered through a small, insignificant door near the back of the house. It was dark inside, and for a moment we wavered at the threshold, peering into the shadows. Fisher and Bradley stood nearby, huddled together and shivering.

Terrence moved from my side, releasing his grip on my hand. I heard him feeling around the wall. There was a click.

Light flooded the entrance. I took a surprised step back, blinking and squinting. I had forgotten how bright artificial light could be. But oh was it so glorious. Electricity. It was _electricity_. The wet and the cold soaking into my bones seemed to dull. My grumpiness and weariness from walking in the snowstorm faded.

I stared around enough to see an interior of dark wood and stone; everything matched, much like the other houses, but for some reason this place looked homier. It was all I needed to see. I turned to Terrence to find him watching me, waiting for my approval.

"It's perfect," I said, stepping up to him and tucking my hands around his waist. He breathed out a relieved smile, blowing snow off the top of my head.

To our side, I heard the other Hunter snort. I glanced over in time to see him direct Bradley away from us and deeper into the house. The Smoker spared a glance back at us before they disappeared through another door towards a set of stairs. Frowning, my gaze flickered up to Terrence's face. His expression was stony, his gaze fixed on the two retreating Infected.

I reached up and tugged on his collar. "Forget about it. We'll worry about it later. Let's go take a look around, okay?"

Terrence nodded, his brow furrowed.

As much as I wanted to explore the entire house, I forced myself to settle on finding the basics. First and foremost was taking a look at the kitchen. I wasn't sure where the nearest grocery store was, and in this weather it would be hell to try to raid nearby houses. But I needn't have worried. The kitchen was as fully stocked as the last with the only difference being the working freezer and fridge. We had enough supplies to last through a least a couple of weeks if not months, although I was sure we'd go foraging anyway if we wanted a variety of food.

It looked as if things were finally looking up for us.

My next step was claiming a bedroom and checking the bathrooms. With Terrence at my heels, I went up to the second floor on the same stairway the other two Infected had gone up. We kept to the west side to find a row of guest bedrooms and a luxurious bathroom. We found Bradley and Fisher in one of the bedrooms. Bradley sat on the bed while Fisher inspected the large room, rummaging through the empty closet and drawers. When I peeked my head in, he stopped to glare at me.

"Hey, I know this has probably occurred to you, but it's probably best if we stuck to one or two floors, right? Conserve energy and heat, you know? It looks like you guys have already decided on this room, so Terrence and I are going to take one of the bedrooms at the end of the hall. That okay with you two?"

Bradley nodded. Fisher scowled, glancing between his friend and me before shrugging and turning his back to me to continue what he was doing.

The bedroom we chose was about three times the size of Terrence's bedroom back at the apartment building. The bed was huge, and when I went to test it, I found that it was all down feather and indescribably amazingly soft. It made me want to collapse right then and there and sleep for the next week, and I would have if there wasn't still so much to do. My companions were hungry, and we could all have done with a good bath and clean clothing. I pushed myself up off the bed and went to check the bathroom.

I hadn't been in a bathroom for ages. It felt almost foreign, almost intimidating, and the sheer size and luxury of this particular bathroom made it even more so. Everything was cream and black with a few elements of green to set it off. Very elegant. And it looked entirely unused. There was a large stack of fluffy clean towels in one of the cupboards and a whole bunch of different amenities here and there, all unopened.

It all made me wonder about the people who had once lived here. My desire to take a bath and get some sleep faded to be replaced by a nagging urge of curiosity. I looked over at Terrence who had followed me into the bathroom and was making faces into the gigantic mirror as he inspected his face, a normal enough routine that I figured was his way of trying to lighten the mood of being reminded just how much the virus had physically changed him.

"Stop it, you look gorgeous," I said, rolling my eyes.

He snorted and gave me a look that made me laugh.

"I know you're tired, but do you mind if we look at the rest of the house?"

We didn't see much of Bradley or Fisher as we explored the house over the next hour or two. By then the world outside had darkened into a snow-filled night. We looked through every room, every closet and shelf and drawer. Every photograph and painting. From our search, we learned that a small family used to live there; a middle-age couple with their one teenage daughter. Not that it was really easy to tell that anyone had lived there; everything was in order, neat and unnaturally clean like the bathroom and bedrooms we had chosen.

Well, _almost_ everything was in order. There were obvious signs that the family had left in a great deal of hurry: opened drawers with clothing hanging out and scattered; bathroom cabinets left open with supplies carelessly spilled over on the counters; half-filled bags abandoned on the floors.

I picked up one of the family portraits set on a beautiful grand piano in a small study. The two-dimensional faces stared up at me in silent, distant joy. I hoped that they had made it out in time. That somewhere in this world was a father and a mother and a daughter, maybe lacking a wonderful house and a luxurious life, but together. Alive. Uninfected.

The faces of my mother, father, and brothers tumbled through my thoughts and I set the picture back down, feeling sick. I hadn't thought about my family in a while. I couldn't. It hurt too much, burned in my chest and in my eyes and in my head. I had managed to avoid the memories for the most part. It would get harder now, though. All we had left to do was survive the winter, cooped up in this place.

The winter at home would have long since started. I wondered how much snow there was now. Probably a couple of feet, enough to necessitate dragging everyone out with snow shovels and the snow blower. I pictured my home, the white two-story house weighed down with thick white snow, the dozens of trees bare and dark against the white backdrop. I wondered if my family had a warm home with electricity to go to. If they had food, clean clothing, running water. If they had each other.

If they were even still alive. Maybe wondering about the daughter, the sister, half a country away and nearly impossible to retrieve. Maybe hoping she was still alive. Maybe mourning for her.

My eyes started stinging, throat burning. I felt Terrence watching me. I looked up and met his gaze. I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. He understood.

After raiding the east wing for much needed clothing, we shut the doors to those rooms. There were enough guest rooms and bathrooms in the building for us to use. We shut down the entire east side to preserve the remnants of the previous owners as well as conserve energy, just in case, and then we cranked on the heat on our side of the building on the two floors we would be using, and the glorious warmth that seeped into every corner, dispelling the cold, was like heaven. It made me feel as if I had lived my entire life in the cold.

On our way back to our room, we dropped in on Bradley and Fisher to give them some of the clothing we had found, but they were both fast asleep on their bed. Bradley was sitting up, surrounded in a nest of pillows and blankets, and I wondered if lying down made it more difficult for him to breathe. Fisher was curled up at his side, almost lost amongst the pillows and blankets. We left the clothing on the dresser near the door and let them keep sleeping.

The two of us, meanwhile, took full advantage of the bathroom. The last time either of us had taken a decent bath was in that first safe room all those months ago. Since then we had made do with wet washcloths, what little water we could spare, and wipes raided from stores. It was crude and hardly effective, but what else were we supposed to do without running water?

I ordered Terrence to take a bath first. He had whined and whimpered and tried to get me to go first, but I refused. Then he'd whined and whimpered some more until I agreed to help him even though I knew he was perfectly capable of taking a shower on his own. His excuse was that he was worried he would accidentally hurt himself with his claws. I suspected he just didn't want to be in a different room than I was in.

"You're really silly sometimes, you know that?" I told him as I dumped a large glob of shampoo on his head.

He made an odd purring sound in the back of his throat. He sat in the large tub near the edge so I could reach him. The bath was like a mini hot tub with five sides and a small ledge to sit on, and even though it was only half filled it still came up to his chest. Instead of a towel like last time, he wore some swimming trunks we had found. It had been one of maybe a half dozen we had found and still had the tag on, and although it was a little too big for him, we'd managed to adjust the drawstrings so they would fit well enough.

"I'm not going to do this every time you need a bath," I said, washing the shampoo from his head and rubbing it into his thick hair. "So don't get used to it. And no amount of your pathetic whining is going to change my mind, got it?"

He blinked at me through the water and what was left of the shampoo pouring down his face, and then he grinned. I barely had time to start worrying before he'd splashed me with enough water to completely douse my front.

I jumped back, half sopping wet and all indignant.

"_Hey_! What was that for?"

He laughed, a deep, light sound that filled the room. Even though I was angry, I couldn't help smiling.

"Oh, you are _so_ dead."

I snatched up the showerhead, twisted the setting, and sprayed him full in the face with the resulting jet. He twisted away with a yelp, and then he lunged forward, arms extended. I yanked the showerhead out of his reach, only to realize too late that that wasn't his intended target.

His fingers locked on my arm, and in one fluid movement, he pulled me right over the edge and into the bath.

"The hell!" I spluttered over the sound of the running water and his laughter. I pushed away from him, struggling through the water in my wet clothing and trying to push my wet hair out of my eyes so I could see where I was going. Luckily, I had taken off my shoes and my coat earlier, but I was still wearing enough clothing to be miserable. "Terrence, I'm going to freaking kill you!"

The bath was big enough to comfortably fit the two of us, but I was still close enough to kick out at him. The water and my sopping jeans dampened the already weakened blow, and he just grinned at me as I glowered back and attempted to climb out, a feat made all the more difficult by my wet clothing and the slick plastic sides. And the fact that Terrence, still grinning like an idiot, slid himself between me and the tub's edge.

"Terrence, you jerk, get out of the way!"

I pushed back through the water and tried to get around him by going to one of the other sides, but he beat me to it.

"Terrence!" I yelled in frustration, glaring at him.

He smiled. Then darted up and gave me a quick kiss on the lips.

I jerked back, startled, and he laughed again and moved out of the way. It took me a moment to get over my surprise, and then I took advantage of the open exit and clambered out. I stood there for a moment on the rug, dripping water everywhere, wet clothing and hair clinging to my body like a disease while Terrence watched me with that dumb grin plastered all over his face while wiped my wet hair from my eyes and glared back.

"Okay you, your bath is done. Out. Now."

As if expecting as much, he climbed out of the tub, and I chucked a towel at his face, which just made him laugh again. He wrapped the towel around his shoulders, smiling and unperturbed by the fact I was still scowling at him. When he didn't make any further move to leave, I threw his clothes at him and shoved him towards the door.

"No, you are _not_ staying in here. Don't whine at me like that! After what you just did, you're lucky I don't shove you outside for the night."

He whimpered, and I snorted.

"Yeah, that's not going to work," I snapped. "I'm sopping wet and not happy, so you are leaving right now. Go get your clothes on, you idiot."

As soon as I had him out and the door locked tight, I peeled off my drenched clothing and threw it all into one of the two sinks. The tiled floor was wet all over, and I almost slipped onto my butt, which did nothing to help my sour mood. It wasn't until I was settled into a bath of my own, furiously scrubbing at my shampooed hair, that my anger faded. It was difficult to stay angry at him, anyway. And I hadn't really been _that_ angry. Just really, really annoyed. It wasn't like the time he'd bitten me. Still, what made him think I wouldn't get angry at some stupid trick like that?

I washed the shampoo out of my hair and then sat back with a sigh, reveling in the steam and the heat as I thought it over and let my anger fade. I had never seen him that playful before. It was different. Unexpected. It almost made me feel uncomfortable. But I understood it. I thought I did. Maybe it was his way of trying to cheer me up. Or maybe being finally safe in a nice warm house without anything immediately dangerous to worry about had made him giddy.

"Idiot," I muttered to the empty bathroom and the steam, but my tone held little venom.

I took my time getting out of the bathroom. I found what I needed to brush my teeth for the first time in forever, and there was some very lovely-smelling lotion in one of the cupboards. I got dressed in some hardly-used clothing that had once belonged to the teenage girl; she was taller than me unsurprisingly, but our size difference was slight.

After cleaning up the bathroom and setting out my old clothes to dry, I went out to find Terrence. I didn't have very far to go. He was sitting out in the hallway next to the door, and he jumped to his feet as soon as I emerged, spreading his arms a bit to show that he had done what I asked and got dressed all on his own.

"Yeah, nice," I said blandly, walking past him towards the bedroom. He followed after me, whimpering, and I resisted a smile, maintaining my stony expression. "No. I'm still angry at you for that stupid stunt you pulled earlier."

He whimpered again, this time more drawn out and mournful, and when I shot a glance back at him as we entered our room, his expression was appropriately anxious, like he hadn't expected me to hold the grudge this long and was trying to figure out what to do about it. I looked away again before I could accidentally break into a smile. I might not be angry, but I still didn't like getting dragged fully clothed into a full bathtub.

At the sight of that comfortable bed, I felt my exhaustion return. It was a different sort of exhaustion. One of utter relief and satisfaction. I stumbled towards it and crawled under the covers, flopping back onto the poofy pillows with a satisfied sigh.

It was so comfortable. I'd forgotten what it was like to be this comfortable. I wanted to lie there forever and never have to move. The pain and the horror and the long cold nights seemed like a different lifetime altogether, a vague memory lost somewhere in the past. For the first time since the outbreak began, I was clean and warm and relaxed and safe. There wasn't another place to travel to. There weren't creatures stalking our every move. There was just this. I never thought I would be like this again.

My eyes and throat started burning again, but I forced away the urge to cry. Stupid hormones. Or maybe I was more tired than I thought.

Terrence whined from the bedside where he stood, apparently uncertain whether or not I was in a good enough mood to deal with him sleeping in the same bed. I propped myself up on my elbows, regarding him with a frown.

"You know, I have half a mind to make you sleep in another room."

He hung his head.

"Do you promise never to do that again?"

He glanced up at me and nodded, whimpering apologetically.

I drew out a long sigh as if seriously thinking it over. Then I smiled, unable to hold it back any longer. "Okay, okay, I'm just kidding, Terrence. I'm really not that angry. I wouldn't really make you sleep somewhere else."

It was his turn to glare at me now, and I laughed, falling back onto the pillows. "Yeah, I'm sorry, but I couldn't let you get off that easy, you idiot. Now turn off the light. I'm tired."

Terrence clicked off the lamp, dousing the room in complete darkness. I blinked several times, trying to adjust to the change, but the windows were all boarded up, the curtains drawn. There was a moment of silence, and then out of nowhere Terrence landed on the bed right next to me, startling me up into a sitting position.

"Whoa, hey! Dammit, Terrence! What's gotten into you?"

He laughed, sliding his arms around me. I tried to push him away, but instead of backing off, he twisted onto my other side, pulling me to his chest.

"Hey! What are you, five? Get off, I want to sleep!"

I shoved at his chest, debating on kicking as my next resort when he didn't draw away. But then somehow in the darkness he found my face and pressed his lips once again against mine.

The sensation startled me as much as it had in the bathroom. Neither of us had shown this much affection since his apartment. We'd been too exhausted, too stressed. It had been enough to sleep next to each other, to find warmth in the other's embrace to get through the cold nights. And unlike the short bathroom kiss, he didn't pull away this time.

Almost instantly, I lost interest in pushing him away. I hadn't ever been kissed like this before. We had come close back at his apartment all those weeks ago, but I'd still had mixed feelings, I'd still been suffering from the backlash of emotion and uncertainty of three weeks in hell. I was still hurting from the loss of my friends, from the complete upset of the world. But here, safe and warm and in as normal a situation as we would probably ever be, none of that mattered.

Terrence slid a hand through my wet hair, steadying my head as the kiss deepened, as he coaxed my mouth open further, as he turned our heads just enough so he was above me. I felt an unfamiliar sensation run through my body, and my arms found their way around his neck. I thought I felt him smile through the kiss. He made a strange noise in his throat, almost like his purring but much more…happy. No, something else. Something…

Whatever the emotion, I wasn't thinking about it. Didn't care. Didn't seem important. Nothing else except being here with him seemed to be that important, really.

Terrence shifted his body, pushing against me until I was on my back. His hands slid down my body, resting against places that stoked that unknown sensation burning through my body like fuel to a fire, that sent my heart pounding, my skin flushing. It was intoxicating. I wanted more from him, wanted to feed the dizzying hunger of that fire rushing through my mind and body, crying for more fuel, more touches and kisses and anything and everything he was willing to give to me. Unexpectedly, he pulled his mouth away from mine. I felt a sharp pang of irritation that was quickly wiped away as he pressed his lips against my neck.

I had never felt like this. But I loved it. I wanted it.

Terrence moved again. He was above me, his weight pressing me down, his legs on either side. It made the fire in my body rage even further. His kissing intensified, became more rough, more uncontrolled. I felt like I was fighting just to keep up with him, to keep from letting the fire engulf me completely. He slid his arms under my shirt, hands pressing against the bare skin of my stomach, sliding up. A harsh rumbling noise sounded in the back of his throat. It sounded…sounded familiar…like a growl…

And something in my muddled brain clicked.

Wait.

No.

The tiny thought struggled through to the surface of my brain. It was like waking up. Suddenly, the reason behind his playfulness was all too clear. But that wasn't the problem.

My hands shot down to grab his wrists before his hands could get any further. I pulled my head away from his, and when he followed my movements, caught up in the passion and the instinct, I turned my face towards him, freeing one hand to grab his jaw and gently push him away.

"Stop."

His movements lessened. Instead, he let out a low, slow growl of irritation, one that sounded as animalistic as any growl he had given me while still more Hunter than human. The sound vibrated through me, sent the hair on the back of my neck on end. I tried to sit up, to get out from underneath him, but his body kept me on my back. He growled again.

"Terrence, cut it out," I snapped into the darkness, trying to push him off.

The growling grew louder. He shrugged my hands away, and when I tried to sit up again, he grabbed my shoulders, holding me still. His face was inches from my neck. I could feel his breath against my skin, heavy and panting. I tried again to sit up, but the grip on my shoulders tightened painfully, his knees digging into my side. I held still against the pain. Satisfied, he started kissing my neck again, but the kisses were different. Less gentle. More…hungry. His body moved against mine, rejuvenating my own instinct, my own passion, even though my mind refused.

I realized then that I was afraid. Of him. Of what he could do to me. Of the fact that I wouldn't be able to stop him.

It was a terrible feeling.

"Terrence!" I cried desperately. "Stop. Snap out of it. Get a hold of yourself!"

The kissing stopped at his name. The growling lessened, almost in confusion. But he didn't move. His lips were still pressed against my neck. I swallowed.

"Terrence, it's me. It's Eden. Remember? Eden. And I'm telling you…I'm asking you to stop."

His growling faded away. He pulled away from my neck. It was silent. I took a shaky breath.

"Terrence, I—"

My voice cracked. My throat was too dry.

"Terrence, I don't want to do this."

The silence stretched. I stared up through the darkness, knowing his face was inches from mine. He didn't move. He didn't make a noise. His claws were digging into my skin through my shirt, but I ignored the feeling. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was staring down at me. The atmosphere between us was unusually taut. Strained.

It was like facing the Hunter in that alleyway all over again. Like facing the monster. The Infected.

No. I didn't want the Hunter. I wanted Terrence. My Terrence.

"Terrence, you're hurting my shoulders."

His grip on my shoulders loosened slowly and pulled away. I took several more deep breaths, trying to steady my nerves. The burning passion was gone now, overwhelmed by my panic and my fear. I fought against those feelings, calming myself down, bringing my thoughts into control.

My arms freed, I reached up until my fingers found his face. He jerked back a little, startled, and started growling again. I pressed my hands against his cheeks, holding him still until his growling faded.

"Terrence," I whispered quietly into the darkness. "I love you. Me. Eden. I love _you_. But you have to be in control. And right now, you're not."

The silence continued.

"Come back, Terrence. I know this isn't you."

More silence, but I felt his weight shift. Just a little. Just enough.

"Another night. Okay? Another night."

For the longest time, nothing happened. Then he pulled himself off of me. The movement was hurried, almost uncontrolled, like he suddenly wanted to be as far from me as possible. I felt him retreat to the other side of the bed, but he didn't leave. At first I thought I had hurt him, that maybe he was angry with me. But it was something else. It was almost like…fear.

After a moment's hesitation, I slid toward him, stretching a hand out until I touched his curved back. He was shaking. I sat up, pulling myself closer.

"Terrence?" I said worriedly, resting a hand on his arm.

He whimpered, a quavering sound that confirmed his fear, so different from the Hunter's growl of moments before. More human. More like Terrence.

I reached around him, fumbling until I found the bedside lamp. It wasn't a very bright lamp, but it would do. It was enough to let me see.

Terrence was hunched over on the edge of the bed, his arms wrapped around himself like he was going to be sick. He cringed at the light, and I could see now that he was shaking. That he was falling apart.

I tried to pull him around, to turn him towards me, but he resisted, turning his face away.

"Terrence, look at me," I said, grabbing his jaw again and forcing his head to turn.

The expression on his face was a mixture of everything I didn't want to see. Fear. Loathing. Hate. Worry. Not directed at me, but at himself. He didn't look up at me, ashamed to do so. I brushed my free hand across his forehead, pushing aside his hair from his eyes.

"The growling," I muttered. "It was like before…before you started being more…more human. The Hunter…"

Yes. The Hunter. I understood now. He had let his guard down. It had let the Hunter, the animal inside of him, break through, take control in that moment when instinct overrode his mind. I had been right to be afraid. Not of Terrence, but of the monster inside of him that he couldn't escape.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him to me, and after a moment his shaking arms slid lightly around my back.

"It's all right," I whispered. "I understand. We'll take it slow, okay? We'll keep you in control. It's not the end of the world. Not for us."

* * *

**Author's Babble:** Heeeey, guys. Long time no see! Um…I hope this chapter was worth the long wait? Honestly, it took so long because I wasn't sure where it was going. Five jobs and full-time classes may have had something to do with it, too. But this story just doesn't leave my brain alone.


	26. Abandon

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Abandon**

The kitchen was abnormally large in the dark. I turned on a small light over the island table where I sat and one over the stove, but the soft glow wasn't enough to penetrate the shadows on the edges of the sprawling room and the adjacent dining room. The darkness made the space seem to stretch further, muddling the walls and curtained windows to look like an endless black expanse where anything could be hiding. It reminded me of that tense, eerie feeling I got when we were out on the streets past dark looking for a place to stay. I didn't want to turn on any more lights, though. I didn't like it too bright, and I didn't want to waste any more electricity than I had to.

I stirred my half-filled cup of hot chocolate, staring at the swirling brown depths as I tried to keep my mind off of the unfamiliar environment by thinking about other things. It was still late at night—actually, it was probably more early in the morning. Very early. Like still technically night early. Yet here I was, wide awake despite having a warm, comfortable, safe bed to retreat to.

Terrence had fallen asleep shortly after I'd calmed him down. I'd let him rest against me, and I'd stroked his hair until his breathing had slowed and I was certain he was asleep. I had been a different story. I'd drifted in and out of one wild, insane dream to another, never really asleep and only partly awake. I didn't remember much of those nightmarish things, just flashes of images and feelings, but it left me uneasy.

I retreated to the kitchen, trying to ease my mind with work. I cleaned out the fridge of expired products and raided a small freezer in the pantry room. Then I spent a good few minutes looking at the stock and thinking up what I could make—real food, hot food, most of which I hadn't even seen the thought of in months. I wasn't a great cook at all, but even frozen dough heated up in the oven was better than the cold canned stuff we'd been putting up with.

There had also been several large canisters of hot chocolate tucked away in a cupboard. I was on my third cup, and there was a large pot of hot water sitting on the stove for more. There was something about the comfortable warmth and sweetness that calmed my nerves.

But the uneasy feeling lingered in the back of my mind, and the unusual half-nightmares weren't entirely the cause of it. It was what didn't exist in my mind, what existed in real life that was the issue. Terrence's touch…his kisses…his voice…his weight pressing down on me…

I sighed and turned away from my hot chocolate, staring off into the darkness towards the wide living room. I didn't know what I was feeling right then. Big surprise. But every time I brushed against the memory of his affection, I felt that powerful warmth stir again within me. That fact that someone wanted to be with me in that way….It was addicting. I wanted more of it. I wanted to feed my instinct, my desire, to let my inhibitions and discomfort go away.

Then the fear would creep up, and the warmth would fade. It wasn't the fear of being intimate like that with a guy. That feeling was just vague inadequacy, self-consciousness, feelings I had mostly conquered ever since getting sick, ever since Terrence and I had had to take care of each other's physical needs. This other fear was deeper. I was afraid because Terrence almost hadn't stopped.

No, not Terrence. Worse. It had been the Hunter. The Hunter had been the one that didn't want to stop.

I kneaded my closed eyes with the palms of my hands. When you're trying to stay alive, there are other things to think about besides sleeping with a guy. Things like, you know, not dying. Sure, I'd thought about crossing that last bridge in our relationship a couple nights…a couple moments…but it'd never been this serious. We'd never come this close. Where would we go from there? How would our relationship change? And what…what if I ended up pregnant?

I felt cold suddenly. Okay, now I was scared for a whole different reason. Great.

I took a calming breath and leaned back, casting my gaze around the kitchen in a desperate search for something to distract me from my thoughts.

"Bradley!" I yelped, nearly jumping out of my chair. "You scared the hell out of me!"

The Smoker stood in the doorway, just far enough into the light to be visible. I'd been so caught up thinking about Terrence that I hadn't even noticed him arrive. The little of his face under his control fell in embarrassment at my reaction. He stood there fidgeting, his gaze cast down to the floor.

"Hey, it's okay," I reassured him after I'd calmed my heart down a little. "I just wasn't expecting anyone else to be up this early. And I'm…I'm just a little jumpy right now. Nightmares. Bad ones. But hey, since you're up, have a seat. I'll get you some hot chocolate. If you want some, I mean."

It turned out that yes, yes he did. He drank through the first cup in a matter of minutes, and I only let him have another one after cooking him up some oatmeal, another thing I'd found in the endless cupboards. We sat there at the counter, relishing the hot breakfast in the warm kitchen. Although I guess it could have been considered a midnight snack. With that in mind, I fished out some frozen chocolate chip cookie dough I remembered seeing in the freezer.

"So what's gotten you up this early? And where's Fisher?" I asked, taking my seat next to him while I waited for the cookies to bake.

Bradley looked at me over his hot chocolate, contemplating his answer. He set his cup down and pulled out his notebook and pen. A minute later, he'd drawn himself sleeping with a large bubble over his head. He started sketching something else inside the bubbles, and then he stopped, his pen wavering over the notebook.

"Nightmares got to you, too, huh."

He glanced sidelong at me, then stared down at his cup.

"I'm surprised Fisher isn't with you, though. I guess you didn't want to wake him up, huh?"

Bradley shrugged.

"So…what brought you down here? Did you just decide to wander around this place or was I being too loud?"

He tapped his nose and sniffed at the air.

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. Either way, I'm always glad for the company," I said, smiling.

The unblemished side of his mouth twitched upward. We sat there for a few minutes in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the Smoker swirled his drink around in his cup.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" I asked hesitantly. "Or draw or…well, you know. Would that help at all? I know some people like to talk about things that are bothering them. If you don't, that's okay, I just…thought I would offer."

Again, Bradley took a moment to think about it, but before he had a chance to answer, the oven timer sounded. I hesitated, then drew away to take the cookies out. They were still too gooey to eat, so after dropping the pan onto the counter to flatten them out, I set them next to where we sat and took my seat again.

We sat in silence, savoring the smell of cookies permeating the kitchen air, interrupted only when Bradley took up his pen and started drawing again.

I leaned forward to watch him. At first, the images were difficult to understand—I knew what it was that he was drawing on the surface. People. A group of them, including Bradley. Only Bradley wasn't a Smoker in these pictures. He was…normal. I could only tell it was him because of the clothing, because he paused to point at himself and then at the image. The other people I didn't recognize. Family, I thought. Maybe. Or friends. Or…

He kept drawing. More images, but with the same people. The scenes showed action, recognizable symbols, all swirling together, merging, melding, becoming one story, just with different pieces. And slowly, slowly I began to understand.

At the beginning of the end of the world, at least for our city, Bradley had been a survivor. Well, I guess we'd all been at some point in time. He and a group of people—some friends, classmates, a few strangers—had teamed up and taken refuge at one of their houses. Like so many, they'd been sure that things would pass, that the craziness on the street would eventually go away.

It hadn't.

It had taken them a while to realize it. More than one of them had fallen ill. Had gone crazy. They'd been forced to move out into the street, to leave their sanctuary and try to escape to somewhere safe. By then, the city had fallen utterly into hell. They'd decided to head to one of the many evacuation points sent out on one of the remaining news channels shortly before electricity had cut out altogether. Not everyone had made it. Including Bradley.

He showed signs of sickness pretty quickly. He started coughing, started growing abnormal bumps on his greying skin. As soon as the rest of his group noticed, they left him. Just like that. Left him to cry and scream and suffer in an abandoned warehouse. Alone. They didn't leave him supplies. They didn't offer to end his misery for him. They just left. Bradley drew himself changing. Drew himself in pain, his fingers digging into his head, his body mutating, transforming into a monster. Into the Bradley I knew now. His hand trembled as he drew, and his expression was stony. I'd seen that look before. I rested my hand on his arm. But even in such an uncomfortable situation, I couldn't help admiring his skill to get across what he wanted to say using nothing but a few sketches.

Bradley drew a new person now, and I recognized Fisher appearing on the paper. Fisher had found Bradley half-turned and half-mad with fear and misery. At that point, Bradley was dying for company. Either company or death. And Fisher, somehow…Fisher had had enough of his mind left to be the friend Bradley needed. Like Terrence had been for me. Like I had been for him.

That was when I knew one thing for absolute certain. The two Hunters had the same strain of the virus. The type that let them keep their minds, or at least the part of their minds that mattered. So they had both been Infected from the safe source. Or…or one had Infected the other. Although that didn't explain how Terrence's eyes had turned pale and Fisher's eyes had turned black.

But Bradley wasn't a Hunter. He was a Smoker. That was two completely different strains, right? So then how had he retained his sanity, too?

Or maybe it wasn't the strain that mattered. Not entirely. Maybe it was the person. Maybe it was just chance.

There were thousands of Infected out there. Hundreds of thousands, probably. How many had been killed so far by survivors, Infected who could be brought back to human if only a little. If only enough. How many more would be destroyed still?

Not all of them were monsters. Maybe…maybe the world hadn't ended entirely. Maybe somehow it could be saved.

I felt like I was on the verge of something. A decision. But it was late. I was tired and stressed. And Bradley needed me to think about him now. I could brood over my thoughts later. He had stopped drawing, but his pen still hovered over the page. He probably wanted to keep drawing, to do something, but it was late. He was probably tired, and the warm food wasn't helping any.

"I'm glad we met, Bradley," I said, and he glanced up at me. "I wish it could have been in better circumstances. I wish we all could have met under different circumstances, sometime back before this whole mess began. You're a pretty awesome guy…and…and I'm sorry that you got left behind like that."

I paused. I wasn't sure what else to say to his story. But by the way his shoulders seemed less tense and his expression softer, maybe telling me it had been all the help he needed. I guess he just needed someone else who knew. Who understood.

"Hey, I know you're probably sleepy, but how about we get you cleaned up? Erm, well, I say 'we,' but I guess you and me don't really know each other very well, and…ah, well, anyway, I know a nice warm bath made me feel better, and no offense, but you could really use it. There's a pretty awesome bathroom upstairs, and Terrence and I found some clean clothes that the old owners left behind. They're going to be a bit big for you, but better than nothing, right? So…what do you think? I mean, if you don't want to, we can find something else to do unless you want to go back to sleep…"

Bradley lightly rested the fingers of his good hand on my arm and smiled. I was rambling again. I ran my fingers through my hair and laughed.

"Sorry, man. I know, I'm rambling again."

The Smoker nodded, then plucked at his filthy shirt and looked up at me.

"Okay, so, I guess that's a yes on the shower then?"

He nodded. I slid out of my chair, then as an afterthought, I handed him one of the untouched cookies and piled the rest onto a plate.

"And have a cookie on the go. Cookies always made me feel better, too."

I retrieved the clothing Terrence and I had left on the dresser in the other bedroom while Bradley headed into the bathroom. Fisher was still sound asleep on the bed, and I kept as silent as possible so as not to wake him. I really didn't want to deal with his aggressiveness towards me until I could figure out better the reason behind it.

When I joined Bradley in the bathroom, I found him leaning against the counter with his back resolutely set to the mirror. The stark contrast between his attitude towards seeing his reflection and Terrence's attitude with it was saddening.

"Okay, so, uh, I'm not sure how you want to do this," I said, setting the clothing down and pulling out some clean towels from the cupboard. "I had to help Terrence clean himself up back when we first met because he was still too much of an Infected to remember how to take his clothes off, and honestly, he probably would've hurt himself with those claws. Would…would you like me to help you, or can you manage it on your own?"

Bradley stared at me.

"Ah, how about one question at a time. Would you like me to help you? I know it's kind of awkward but I can make it as painless as possible. I've gotten enough practice with Terrence."

The Smoker stared down at his feet and did a little jerk of his head and shoulder. Up to me. I smiled to myself.

"All right, how about this. I'll help you get started, and then if it looks like you can handle it, I'll let you have some privacy, okay?"

He nodded slowly and stood up.

It turned out the only real problem he had was with getting his shirt and jacket off. The tumor-covered arm proved difficult to get the sleeves over. The skin underneath his clothing was in no better shape than the skin that was generally uncovered although it did look a little lighter. Like his face, the tumors petered off into smooth skin a little less than midpoint on his body.

I hesitated when it came time to take anything else off. I didn't want to be too disregarding of his feelings. But to my surprise, Bradley was able to maneuver the belt and his jeans' button and zipper with surprising ease by using his normal hand. With his belt undone, he looked up at me, and I nodded.

"Okay then, looks like you've got it, I'll just wait outside…?"

Bradley blinked and then stared down at his feet again. I stopped mid-step and looked at him closely, trying to think. I figured he wouldn't have wanted me to hang around while he stripped and took a bath or shower or whatever considering how he hadn't liked me looking at him just yesterday.

"Or…would you rather I stay here and just…turn my back and have a seat on the counter and eat some cookies?"

He glanced back up at me, and even though he was apparently too embarrassed or ashamed or whatever to give me a clear answer, I felt like I understood. He didn't like being left alone. Like Terrence.

"Cool. How about I get the water started first, yeah? Then just give me a poke or something when you're done."

In a few minutes, I was perched on the counter, and from the sound of it, Bradley had managed to climb into the tub on his own. I took a bite of one of the cookies and closed my eyes to savor the sweetness. It had cooled off quite a bit, but it was still gooey and just a bit crunchy. Oh man. Fresh cooked—well, fresh frozen and then baked—food. It had been way too long.

Bradley coughed behind me a few times, and I had to remind myself at the last minute not to turn around on instinct. I should have felt more awkward. Or at least, I reasoned that I should have felt more awkward. At least as awkward as I'd felt when I'd first given Terrence a bath. I guess I'd toughened up since then.

The large bathroom filled with heat, and the mirrors next to me began to fog up. I went through another two cookies, and then I stopped after I started to feel a little sick. All the hot chocolate and cookies were starting to catch up to me in the unusual warmth. I rested my head against the glass.

"You know, the first time I gave Terrence a bath, the water was freakin' freezing," I started up after a moment into the silence. Somehow, I could tell that Bradley was listening closely, that he maybe had been waiting for me to start talking. "And we had to use one of those shower floor sink things they have in janitor closets. That guy could only half fit in it. It looked really funny now that I look back on it."

I stopped talking for a few moments. "I really only talk about him, don't I? Sorry about that. It's just…nothing that happened before meeting him seems real anymore. It seems like it's always been like this. Which sucks if you think about it too hard but…I guess it could be worse. Anyway, how about I tell you about something else. Like…oh, I haven't really told you anything about me, have I? I know, kind of a stupid subject. If I get too boring, just throw a towel at me or something, okay?"

I waited for a moment, but the only sound was the water and the occasional movement or cough from Bradley.

"Alright, so…let's see. I'm the only girl in my family. My parents had three boys before they had me. I think my mom thought she was never going to get a girl. She named all of us after Bible names. She said it was because grandmother was really big into Christianity. It's why she came here to the US. Or maybe my mom just really liked the names. I don't know, a lot of other people in my family have weird naming conventions, so it could have been worse.

"Jericho's the brother I'm closest with since he's just a few years older than me. I don't know why my mom chose Eden for me out of all the other girl names. I always thought it was kind of weird, but it's simple enough. Um…well, I came to go to school here at Haven University. I live kind of near the west coast. It's not too different here, but then, I didn't really get a chance to get to know this place before the apocalypse broke out. I kind of wonder sometimes what would have happened if it hadn't, but sometimes…sometimes, I can't really imagine it any other way." I laughed. "And there I go again, getting all depressing. Wow, it used to be that all I could talk about were video games and stories about dumb things like beating up the football players at high school. I remember there was this one time I threw this guy into a trash can next to the teacher's desk while she sitting there. She kind of cheered me on, actually, 'cause the guy was a jerk."

I grinned at the memory. Then I heard the water turn off and Bradley climb out of the bath, and I sat up even though I wasn't planning on turning around for a few more minutes. I reflected for a moment on how nice it was that I didn't have to physically take care of Bradley as much as I had originally feared.

"You're going to have to tell me a little more about yourself later. And about Fisher. Speaking of Fisher, he must be a really deep sleeper. I'm surprised he hadn't woken up and realized you're gone. Actually, I'm surprised Terrence hasn't woken up and freaked out that I've gone."

It turned out that I spoke way too soon. Bradley poked me in the back to tell me he had finished. I turned around, and for a moment I almost didn't recognize him. I'd certainly never seen a clean Smoker before. He stood there in a shirt and lounge pants, glancing between the floor and my face. wasn't sure whether he looked more or less ghastly now that his greying skin and bulbous tumors weren't hidden under caked layers of filth. I smiled as I looked him up and down, hiding my thoughts, and the more I looked at him, the more comfortable with his appearance I became.

"You look great," I said. "And a lot more comfortable. Feels good to be clean, huh?"

He stopped glancing around and held my gaze before smiling and nodding.

"Well then, I guess we should—"

BANG.

I jumped and whirled around towards the door where the thunderous sound had come from. I thought instinctively of my katana and my gun, both in the bedroom with Terrence. Behind me, Bradley made a sort of gagging noise and recoiled. The unlocked door knob jiggled, and then the door flew open.

Fisher stood in the doorway, his expression wild. I straightened up, my own expression dropping into stony indifference in response. He glowered at me before his eyes traveled behind me to Bradley.

The Smoker coughed again and shuffled forward, resting a hand on my shoulder. Even though it didn't seem possible, Fisher's expression twisted further. A deep growl started in the back of his throat.

"Stop growling, Fisher," I snapped, and the words came out of nowhere. "You're not an animal!"

Fisher blinked and the growling faded, only to restart at full force. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, but I angrily shoved the feeling of fear away. Instead, I took a step towards him. Bradley's grip on my shoulder tightened.

"I know you can't talk, but what the hell is your problem with me? Because you obviously have one. We've barely known each other what, two days now? Three? You weren't so uptight before! It wasn't until—"

I came up short. It wasn't until I tried interrupting Bradley's rest. Fisher hadn't started acting aggressive to me until I'd started bossing around Bradley. Maybe not directly, but…

My mind started cranking along, putting things together. A door slammed open somewhere down the hall, and we all turned to see Terrence suddenly appear at the doorway behind Fisher, the panic in his expression fading away into confusion. Fisher immediately stopped growling and backed up a little against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on his roommate who looked down at him and then up at me.

For some reason, I felt angry surrounded like that by them. There was a pressure building in my forehead, and it was making things worse.

"Everything is fine Terrence," I said bitingly. "Go back to bed. I'll be there in a few minutes. I just need to talk to Fisher."

Terrence stared at me and frowned.

"_Now_, Terrence. Do what I tell you."

He blinked, and then just like Bradley, he cast his eyes to the ground before nodding and slowly retreating back into the hallway. I suddenly remembered what had happened only a few hours before, and I felt a pang of guilt that I quickly ignored. I couldn't deal right then for feeling sorry for him. Fisher returned his gaze back to me, and I saw that the anger and hate in it had in no way lessened.

"Bradley, you should go to bed, too," I said after a moment of staring down the Hunter. The hand on my shoulder squeezed again, and I broke my gaze with Fisher long enough to glance at the Smoker and smile. "We'll be fine. We're just going to talk. You have nothing to worry about, Bradley. Right, Fisher?"

The Hunter blinked at me, momentarily surprised. He looked at his friend, and then slowly nodded.

Bradley hesitated before warily lumbering out. Fisher looked like he had half a mind to follow after and leave me alone, but he stayed and turned his glower back onto me. I heard a door close. And then it was just Fisher and me left.

Under the Hunter's cold stare, it was difficult to think. The blooming headache and fading warmth was only getting worse. I tried to act cool and calm, folding my arms and leaning back against the counter like I was talking to a friend, not a guy twice my size who could probably break my neck before I could scream.

"So," I started, my tone neutral. "Whatever you're angry with me about, it has to do with Bradley, right?"

The Hunter scowled.

"What, do you think I'm going to hurt him? Do you think I don't care about him at all? I know we just barely met, but I still care! He's still a person, just a kid! I wouldn't do anything to hurt him."

Fisher's eyes narrowed and he huffed.

"What, that's not it? Well then, how about you stop acting like a jerk and enlighten me a bit, huh?"

The Hunter's lip raised in a small snarl. After a moment, he mouthed a word.

_Survivor_.

I frowned. "Survivor? What, you don't like me because I'm a survivor?"

He huffed again, and I sighed. My anger was fading, but so was my fear. He was getting less and less scary the longer we talked. I hoped he wasn't trying to get my guard down. But he wouldn't hurt me. He couldn't, I was sure of it suddenly. If he hurt me, he'd have to face Terrence, and then he'd have to face Bradley. But that was only if Terrence let him survive the encounter. And I had a feeling Fisher wasn't quite willing to put his life at jeopardy, not for himself, but for Bradley.

Bradley may not have been the most in-depth story teller in terms of minor details like words and thoughts and feelings, but I thought I had a good idea of his and Fisher's story. The two of them were a family. Fisher took care of Bradley. He always had ever since he had first found the poor boy suffering in that godforsaken warehouse. I reasoned that that was what kept him sane. If Fisher ended up injured or dead, then he couldn't take care of Bradley anymore. And if someone else tried to take care of Bradley…

"I'm not trying to replace you," I blurted out at reaching the end of my train of thought. The Hunter looked a bit taken aback. "I mean…I mean, I'm not trying to take over caring for Bradley. He means a lot to you. Taking care of him means a lot to you. I get that. Of course I get that. How much do you think Terrence means to me? What I mean to him? And I get that I'm sort of intruding, that I'm sort of taking over. And I'm sorry. I didn't realize it bothered you so much. But I understand, okay? I wish you would have tried to tell me earlier instead of just growling at me like some sort of…some sort of animal or something."

As I talked, the Hunter's snarl slowly faded. By the time I'd finished, his mouth was set into a straight line, and his eyes were still narrowed, but he seemed more annoyed now than full out hating.

"I'll back off, okay? Just as long as you stop being such an aggressive jerk. And if I start to get too pushy, then just let me know, and not by growling! We just need to make this work, Fisher. If you can't accept me as a friend, then at least try to think of me as an ally. We're in this together whether we like this or not, and I certainly can't stand to live the whole rest of the winter like this."

I stopped talking. The Hunter said and did nothing. He just stood there, staring at me. I decided maybe a few more words wouldn't hurt.

"Bradley told—well, showed—me how you guys met. How the other survivors…abandoned him. I'm not going to do that, Fisher. I don't care what he looks like now. I don't care what any of you look like. I'm not abandoning you guys. So…so if that's something else you're worried about—that Bradley's going to befriend me, and I'm just going to hurt him like that—then don't. Bradley's my friend now. He's…he's family. Even though it's only been a few days. But with the world like this, we have to stick together. And hey, you don't have to like your family at all, you just have to be able to live with them." I paused. "So what's it going to be? Can you live with me?"

The Hunter remained silent for several long moments, and I said nothing as well. I had nothing left to say. What else could I say? I'd tried to cover all my bases, and I was just too tired now with the beginnings of a headache to keep trying to think of other things that may be getting under his skin about me.

He started towards me suddenly and I stood up straight, my body readying for a fight. He stopped a foot away from me, glaring down into my face as I craned my neck back to look at him arms still folded. For a fleeting moment, I was certain he was going to hit me even though his expression was difficult to read and could have been anywhere from boredom to loathing. He lifted a clawed hand and held it hovering above my face, as if about to claw at me. His eyes watched my reaction. I could see through his fingers that he was looking for something in my expression. I kept it neutral. Then on a whim, I reached up one of my hands and pressed my palm against his.

I saw the flash of surprise in his expression, and then he snorted and withdrew his hand and turned away. He started out the door, but not before snagging a cookie from the plate on the counter.

When I returned to the bedroom I shared with Terrence, I found my Hunter sitting on the very edge of the bed on his hands, rocking back and forth. When I entered and closed the door behind me, he stood up, his eyes flickering. I came over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his chest. Almost immediately, his arms slid around me, and even though his embrace wasn't as tight as usual, it still felt just as warm.

"It's going to be okay," I said, my voice muffled by his shirt. "Everything's going to be okay."

**Author's Babble:** I cranked this sucker out instead of reading _Artemis Fowl: The Last Guardian_ (which is something I've been waiting for years for and just came in the mail today, so you're welcome) so it would be on time for _Retaining Sanity_'s two year anniversary! Happy anniversary! Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me this far through the past two years, and thank you (and welcome) to those of you who are just coming on board!

As a side note, I went to Anime Expo this year. I was hoping to mention it earlier in case anyone else was going, but what with taking my NCLEX-RN board exam and preparing for AX, I never managed to finish a chapter before I left. It was a super long and tiring trip, but it was also super fun! If any of you attended, I was the lone Korra cosplayer in Fire Ferret uniform (the one not a part of any Fire Ferret group) minus blue contacts and a helmet on Day 1 to Day 3 (my other cosplays sort of fell through sadly). There was an awesome Ellis and Nick pair there, and I saw a Hunter, too! The next convention I will be attending is a local one in October. Yay for being nerdy!


	27. Give

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Give

When morning came, I found myself alone in the kitchen. Again. Terrence had buried himself under the blankets and hadn't stirred when I'd climbed out. I, however, still wasn't used or happy with sitting still.

Outside, the storm continued to rage. I'd checked out the door to see that the snow drifts were building into mountains. It was lucky we'd made it to the house when we did. We wouldn't have been going anywhere in a storm like that.

Now instead of worrying about traveling, I started to think about other issues, which turned out to be a welcome change if a little stressful. For starters, the water pipes might freeze—it was a problem we had some winters back home. I assumed the house ran its own well source and water heating system that allowed us to enjoy the sorely missed amenities from before the infection, but with the weather as it was and all my companions asleep, I had to run on assumptions. I kept checking the water faucet, letting it run for several minutes on a low trickle, just in case.

Eyes closed, I visualized what else needed to be checked. The generators would be another priority. They'd ran fine for months already unless the Hunters had turned them on when they'd found the place, so that meant they were hooked up to a reliable source of fuel. But there were all sorts of things that could go wrong, and if they stopped working, then we'd have to settle for moving into one of the living rooms equipped with a fireplace. And then there were the solar panels. They looked like they had been angled to allow for snow to slide off, but we'd have to look to make sure.

I sighed. Running a house was a lot of worry. I had to be an adult in the least ideal conditions. No parents. No brothers. Hard to believe I'd barely graduated from high school.

I rested my forehead against the cool surface of the counter. I couldn't relax, couldn't take a break from thinking and doing. Maybe something was wrong with me. But I had people to take care of—two more than I'd had to think about a week ago. It was like having my group of survivors back. Only I didn't know what I could rely on from Fisher and Bradley. I couldn't force them to take on roles they maybe weren't ready or willing to.

Someone cleared his throat. I jerked up, eyes flashing open, expecting to see Bradley returning from more nightmares.

Fisher was the absolute last person I expected.

The Hunter stood in the doorway, staring at me. He was almost unrecognizable. He'd taken a shower and changed into clean clothing, and now the resemblance to his photos at the apartment was clear. Same face, just scarred and lined. Same hair, just longer and thicker. Slightly different build. But still him. Still human.

The main difference remained his greyish skin. And his eyes.

An unsettling anxiety dropped into my stomach. I swallowed. I thought I'd gotten over my issues with him during the encounter in the bathroom. I felt like I was dealing with a different person now.

"First Bradley comes to find me down here, and now you. Taking turns, are we?"

He frowned.

Okay, playful sarcasm was maybe not the best way to start a conversation.

"You look nice," I offered.

He glanced down at himself, his shoulders shifting in a stiff shrug.

"Um…I haven't made breakfast yet, but I could whip something up if you're hungry."

He cocked his head to the side, regarding me with an expression that was difficult to read. I resisted a frown. My words were poking around in the dark, trying to hit on the right thing to say and do around the guy. Our earlier confrontation had only dealt with his aggression towards me. There was something else we needed to deal with between the two of us. I could sense it. I just wasn't sure what.

Instead of giving me a direct answer, he took a seat across from me at the kitchen island. With the only light the strip above us, it was like being in a TV show interrogation room. But who was the cop, and who was the suspect?

The urge to stand up and walk around built in my legs, but that was a sure giveaway of nervousness, and anyway, I didn't want to make him think I disliked him. Or was scared of him. Instead, I folded my hands on the counter and faced him, my expression neutral.

"Something you want to talk about?"

Great. Now I felt like a counselor interviewing a patient.

The Hunter fixed his gaze on me, his jaw stiff as he moved his lips into the voiceless words he'd probably been mulling over for the past two days.

I stared, my own lips mimicking his while my mind tried to fit the movements with the most logical words. "'Why Terrence?'"

He nodded.

"Why Terrence…what?"

Scowling, he watched one of his fingers tap on the counter in a rapid rhythm before turning his attention back to me. It took me a little longer to figure out what he was saying.

_Why stay?_

It was my turn to think. I was unsure of his limit with words, but it seemed there was one. Maybe he had to choose them carefully, because he could only muster control for a few at a time. Maybe he didn't have many in his memory to choose from.

"Why…why did I stay with Terrence? Is that what you're asking?"

He nodded again.

"Well," I started, pulling at my memories. I needed to take my time on this. I needed to sound certain. "If I'd left him alone, he would have gone back to the way he was. All…animalistic. I didn't want to let him suffer alone because of something he couldn't control. But I knew I couldn't take him with me. And if I was honest with myself, I was scared of finding out what happened to the rest of the world. What if the Infection made it home? What if my family was dead? I think I'm happier not knowing. So I stayed with Terrence, because it seemed the best option for both of us."

The Hunter's frown didn't fade.

"Why do you think I stayed with him?" I asked.

His gaze fixed on my face, and he pointed up towards the bedrooms.

_Strong_.

He pointed at me.

_Weak_.

"I'm going to pretend like I'm not insulted, because I don't think insulting me was the point."

He clicked his jaw in what I assumed to be annoyance.

"Okay, sorry. So…Terrence is strong, and I am weak. Yeah. Great. What _is_ the point?"

Fisher leaned over the countertop, and I resisted the urge to tilt the other way.

_Friend_.

"Friend?" I repeated.

His eyes narrowed, his lip curling.

_Pet_.

I stared at him. "What?"

His gaze was fixed on mine, unwavering and cold.

My heart hammered in my chest, my throat dry and rough. "I don't understand."

The look in his eyes was accusing. He pointed at himself and then towards the bedrooms.

_Protect_.

He pointed a steady finger at me and repeated his motion towards upstairs.

_Hurt_.

"Never," I said. "I would never hurt him. Why would you even…"

Disbelief and anger flared hot in my chest, stifling the rest of my words. My fingernails dug painful grooves into my palms. I withdrew my hands and clasped them tight between my knees.

Calm down. I had to calm down and think this through. But it was difficult under Fisher's cold stare. All I wanted to be was angry. I thought we'd worked out our issues in the bathroom. I was dead wrong. That was only the start.

Friend. Pet. Protect. Hurt. What was he trying to tell me? The answer was staring me right in the face, but I was blind to it in every way except the awareness that it was there.

Friend. Pet.

Weak. Strong.

Why would I stay with Terrence?

Why him?

Because he was strong? And I was weak.

Why would I…

Like a curtain being ripped away, it clicked.

"You think I'm using him? You think that's why I'm with him?"

The Hunter eyed me, his gaze still wary.

"You're wondering, because I'm a survivor, and he's Infected, and you know we didn't know each other before…before he became like this. And you know now that I met him when I was separated from the other survivors. When I was desperate. So the only reason—one of the only reasons—you can think of to explain why I'm staying with him is because I'm taking advantage of him being…stronger. Infected. He always listens to me, and he always takes my side, and..." I paused, struggling to put my thoughts together. "You're worried I'm going to end up hurting him. No physically, because let's face it, he could take me out in a second, but emotionally. Mentally. And you're worried he won't see it until it's too late."

The Hunter stared at me. I searched his expression for the answer, but he gave nothing away.

Although I knew what I wanted to say, the words still took a moment to form, even as my anger faded. "Well, you don't have to worry about that. I love Terrence. Because of who he is as a person. I guess it doesn't come off that way considering how I boss him around. But I'm never going to leave him. I'm never going to hurt him intentionally. Even if it means never seeing another non-Infected person again."

The Hunter settled back slowly into his chair, but the look he was giving me remained unchanged. Which could be either a good or a bad sign. At least it hadn't gotten worse.

"I swear to you that I love him," I said. "I'm not using him. I'm not using any of you. I'm sorry if it's come across that way. I'm just…bossy. I was like that even before the Infection, though. I guess I like being in charge. You know, youngest kid, all brothers in the family. I have to hold my own somehow."

I offered a smile. He sighed, his glower easing into a frown. His fingers started tapping another rhythm on the tile, but it was slower. Calmer.

I watched his hands, very much aware that he was staring a hole through my face.

"You know, that makes me wonder what the other survivors thought of me. They were all older than me, and I really…bossed them around, too. Just like my brothers." I paused. "I'll try to be less demanding, okay? Especially with Bradley. I'm used to it with Terrence, though, so it'll be difficult. Just…try to be patient, okay? I think you're really stressing Terrence out."

Fisher's gaze shifted off of me at last, his forehead creasing.

"I know it's not on purpose," I rushed. "I just...I worry about him. He's a bit of an idiot when it comes to taking care of himself. And I want us all to get along."

The expression on his face didn't change. But it seemed, at least, that he'd gotten what he came for. He stood up and shrugged half-heartedly towards the stairs, gesturing to himself.

_Sleep_.

I blinked. "Oh. Um. Okay. I hope you sleep well."

He shrugged again and started to stalk out.

"Fisher," I blurted, jumping up before he'd disappeared into the darkness. He paused. "Can I ask you something?"

He studied me, as if imagining what sort of questions I could ask. Nodded once.

"You and Terrence…I can tell there's something going on. What happened between you two?"

His dark eyes flashed, and he dropped his gaze.

"I'm sorry," I said. I meant it, and I hoped my tone made it obvious. "I can tell it's not a good memory. But maybe I could help."

I could read the look on his face as easily as I could read Terrence.

_Yeah, right_.

"Please, let me try. Whatever it is, it's hurting both of you."

Scowling, he shook his head. Not in disagreement. More like frustration. It reminded me so much of Terrence that a familiar pang of hurt crept into my chest.

I chewed on my lower lip. He wasn't running off, but I wasn't sure how long he would stick around with me poking into unhappy territory. Maybe now wasn't the time for dredging up past problems and hanging them out for inspection. But maybe it needed to happen.

"Please, Fisher."

He ran his clawed hands through his hair, his eyes shifting from side to side, like he was looking for the answer in the floor.

It was silent. I was sure he was going to shake his head and leave. And, then, with trembling hands and jerking moves, he gestured up and down his body and then towards our bedrooms.

_My fault._

My brow furrowed in confusion. "Your fault? What's your fault?"

He stared at me. His lips pressed into a thin, white line.

"The…the infection? In Terrence? Are you saying…that's your fault?"

The dark gaze dropped away from me, and for the first time, the wariness and aggressiveness in his expression fell. He looked lost.

He pointed to his mouth. And then to his arm.

A vague memory rose up in my mind. Of when I'd forced Terrence to confront our two stalkers outside that church several days back.

"You bit Terrence. You Infected him."

He closed his eyes.

My heart dropped straight into my stomach. I thought of how Terrence had clutched his arm. How Fisher had pointed at it before breaking down into sobs. I thought of their interactions over the past few days, how Fisher backed down whenever Terrence threatened him—he hadn't done it out of fear. It was guilt.

I swallowed around the cotton-feeling in my throat. Did Fisher know what happened to Terrence's girlfriend? Did Fisher think that that was his fault, too, his fault that this best friend's love had left him because of the sickness Fisher had given to him? I didn't know. Didn't know how to ask.

Almost didn't want to.

So much made sense now. But it hadn't been what I was expecting. I stared at the Hunter with a different mindset, and for the second time in so many minutes, it was like looking at a different person. All of us had been broken in different ways. I didn't know if we could all be repaired the same.

I stepped forward until we were feet away. He looked at me like I was a mad Infected. "It wasn't your fault you got sick. And it wasn't your fault that Terrence is sick."

He shook his head. He had probably told himself that a million times already.

I reached out and grabbed one of his hands. Startled, he almost jerked out of my grasp, his eyes wide. I tightened my grip.

"It _wasn't_," I said. "It wasn't your fault, Fisher. It wasn't your fault the Infection….It screws with people's minds. You know that. You've seen it. I've seen it. It wasn't your fault that it screwed you up enough that you snapped and took it out on Terrence."

Fisher tried to pull away from my grip more deliberately this time. My fingers clutched tighter.

"_Listen to me_. The Infection has different strains, right? It has to. Hunters, Smokers, Tanks…they're all different and common manifestations from the same basic sickness. And then there are Infected like you and Terrence and Bradley. Ones who can pull themselves out of hell and save their minds somehow. That's another strain. A different strain. I'm sure of it. But it isn't perfect. Terrence was half animal when I met him. It took forever to get him human again. But eventually we did."

The Hunter glared down at the floor, still refusing to look up. But he wasn't attempting to pull away anymore.

"I don't know what would have happened if you…if you hadn't bitten Terrence. I just don't. But the odds are Terrence would have ended up sick from some other source, and who knows what sort of strain he would have picked up. I haven't a clue in hell if it's the person or the sickness that determines the outcome of the Infection or both, but if it's the Infection itself…if it's the strain…then maybe you gave Terrence the one that saved his mind. Maybe you're the reason he's still himself."

Fisher didn't move. He didn't seem to be breathing. All he did was stare at the same place on the floor with a gaze so intense he may as well have been trying to see through the tiles.

"I don't know what or where I would be now if it hadn't been for Terrence," I muttered. "I was losing it before I met him. Everything that happened…you can't just go straight from being a normal kid to killing people left and right without something happening to your mind. I was losing myself trying to save my friends. Terrence helped me stay sane. We helped each other. And maybe…maybe it's because of you that we could."

I slid my fingers into his palm and smiled, even though he wasn't looking at me. It was a moment before his fingers closed over mine.

"Don't blame yourself. You can't. You and Terrence are friends. He risked his life and mine to help you and Bradley in that alleyway, and you were worried I was using him. Friends take care of each other like that. And they forgive. Don't keep beating yourself up over it. Terrence already forgave you."

Fisher clenched his teeth, his jaw muscles tight.

"He did. At the house near that church. I know he did. I know he _does_." When Fisher continued to look miserable, I squeezed his hand with both of mine. This skin was cold, but my own warmed it. "How about I talk to him?"

The Hunter's forehead creased. He shuffled back a half-step, firmly shaking his head.

"Then you should talk to him. Or, well, maybe not talk, but you know."

Another head shake.

I sighed. "I won't force you. But…if it's because you're scared of how he'll react, you don't need to be. I mean, did Terrence hold grudges when he was…um, before he was Infected?"

Another head shake, although this time with less force.

"Then he won't now. Nothing's changed, Fisher. Not the important things, anyway. He's still your friend. Just like Bradley. Just like me."

Fisher shrugged. But the tenseness in his shoulders and the crease between his eyebrows slackened.

"At least consider it, okay?" I waited until he nodded. My fingers tightened over his larger hand a last time and then let go. "Well, think we should get back to bed before someone wakes up and freaks out that we're gone."

He glanced up towards the bedrooms. I took it as a cue for agreement.

I started past him towards the stairs, but he touched my shoulder. When he saw he had my attention back, he swallowed and stared down at the ground.

_Thanks_.

He brushed past me without waiting for a response and disappeared into the shadows before I'd figured out what he'd mouthed and come up with a response.

I smiled, even though I was alone. "You're welcome."

* * *

**Author's Babble:** Phew, that was a long time coming, sorry! Thanks all of you for waiting! I hope I can get the time and energy to update more regularly now that I'm done with the nursing program. I'm also in the middle of doing basic copy edits for grammar mistakes and wording in previous chapters, which includes removing some of the outdated Author's Babbles at the end of chapters. Ah well, at least they look cleaner.

For anyone in Utah, I'll be at Salt Lake Comic Con this week! Hooray!


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